Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  Once Alliasian and Filiathes assured him it was a completely painless process, no more than intense scrutiny, he agreed readily. We finished dinner, I finished a sunset, and we retired to my laboratory for the analysis.

  First Elves are very different from elves they quasi-created. Human-based elves are superficially elves, yes, but with obvious human characteristics and internal organs, with some notable alterations. Put one in an MRI machine and the doctors will whistle and want to run a lot more tests.

  Put a First Elf in the MRI and the doctors will want to call either Area 51 or the press. They’ll certainly need a good, stiff drink.

  First Elves aren’t human—not even close. Oh, they share some similarities in basic structure, sure. They’re bilaterally symmetrical, have five digits on each hand, forward-facing eyes, all the gross features you might expect.

  Inside, they’re very different. They have more ribs than a human, but thinner, and the ribs are staggered and offset—there’s an outer layer of widely-spaced ribs, some muscle and cartilage, then an inner layer of ribs spaced to run behind the gaps between the outer ones. The ribs still run back to connect to the spine—which has sixty-two vertebrae in a peculiar, overlapping configuration—but the ribs don’t connect up front like a human. They run all the way around the chest and support each other through… cartiliginous? Cartilageous? Cartilaginous? They support each other with cartilage connecting them.

  Most of the bones are rigid, but not ultimately so. They seem to be more fibrous than bony. I think they generate fibers in the hollow channel where humans keep marrow. The fibers migrate outward through the structure of the bones as the exterior erodes. How this works exactly, I have no idea. But the bones of a First elf have some give to them, so they can bend slightly under pressures that would break a more brittle human bone. I think they’re stronger and heal more quickly, too.

  Their eyes, at least, are a lot like human eyes, aside from the expected increase in rods and cones. Internal organs are sometimes recognizable. I had no trouble with the digestive tract, but where’s the liver? And are those the kidneys? Those other organs are not on my list of things commonly found in humanoids—I think. And I think these other things are secondary, collapsed lungs. Do they expand under exertion? And what are those brownish layers along the underside of each lung?

  The brain of a First Elf is also structurally different. It retains the same general shape, but it doesn’t seem to have that crease down the middle a human brain has. Comparing it to my Second Elf subjects, Bob’s brain is about the same size, but slightly denser, and lacks some of the structures around the brainstem. Does everything in an elf brain take place in the brain, itself? Maybe. It doesn’t have most of the human structures in the upper spine.

  Even the hearts aren’t what I think of as hearts. Two large blood vessels run vertically in the chest; sections of them are covered in muscle. They pulse in a swallowing motion, moving blood through the body. Smaller branches of these two main vessels feed into the lung structures, pumping blood through them. First Elves have, effectively, two primary hearts and four secondary hearts, none of which are placed where a human heart is kept.

  Now I feel stupid. For years—decades, really—Bob has had that handprint I put on his chest. I always thought he believed I could rip his heart out remotely with it. Turns out I could take out a large piece of his left-side peristaltic blood-pump and a large chunk of lung. He wouldn’t enjoy it, but it wouldn’t instantly kill him, either. With appropriate magic and several helpers, he might survive. But by presuming he had a heart where a human has a heart, I demonstrated my ignorance of First Elves.

  He still seems to regard me as a Dark King and Lord of Night and Really Scary Creature, though, heart-crushing handprint or not. I may have to ask him why, sometime. Am I simply that frightening? Or is it because the Heru—the race of gods Rendu is supposed to be part of—come from the chaos beyond the world, and Bob seems to think I have some of that chaos in my blood?

  As a side note… do I? What causes vampirism? A contagion? A creature from the void of chaos? A supernatural entity—hellish demon, bloodthirsty spirit, or genie-like monster? I don’t know what made the first vampire, if there is one. I don’t even know if vampirism shares a common source among the various worlds I’ve visited. Every species may have a different origin, for all I know.

  Anyway, another oddity of First Elves, possibly the most peculiar, is their complete lack of reproductive system. No testes, no ovaries, nothing of that nature of any sort. There’s a waste elimination system for solids and another for liquids—yes, even ridiculously graceful elves use the toilet—but these both use sphincters.

  Bob isn’t a him. Bob is an it. But I’ll probably continue to think of it as a him—that is, I’ll probably continue to think of Bob as a him.

  Elf gender is weird. These elves don’t have a gender. Then again, I used to know humans with gender issues. How weird are First Elves, really, in that they were created without any gender at all? It must save a lot of confusion and headache.

  Here’s an even weirder thing, at least to me: First Elves have no bellybuttons. They weren’t born, they were created.

  But the total lack of reproductive system was troublesome news for my plans. I had hoped to harvest gametes from First Elves and artificially force reproduction. Now, if I want to create another First Elf, I can’t just mix two of them and find a host mother.

  I wonder… can First Elves be cloned? I’ll have to ask Diogenes. I’m more comfortable cloning computer drives than I am with cell cultures. If First Elves were never born, can you grow one in a tank? Where do you hook the umbilical cord, assuming you can get the cloning process to work? Cloning a human-hybrid elf is probably doable without too much trouble, but I’d really like to clone some First Elves for Bob. Magicians might appreciate the higher-quality copy, too, instead of a copy of the copies.

  When I gestured him off the table, Bob sat up with a smooth, almost liquid motion. He looked at me with a puzzled expression.

  “I’m done,” I assured him.

  “But… you have done nothing?”

  “On the contrary. I looked all through you, examining your flesh, blood, bones, and organs. You’re quite different on the inside from a human, or even a human-born elf.”

  “I am?” He seemed startled.

  “Oh, yes.” I explained the differences between a First Elf and the elf copies. He was already aware of some of the more obvious differences, of course, but my list seemed to disappoint him.

  “We have created,” he said, slowly, “imperfect copies of ourselves. They appear much like us, but are not us.”

  “Don’t feel bad. You did an excellent job.”

  “Our efforts have been wasted,” he replied, resignedly. “We knew our re-creations were not perfect, yet we continue to try, and we fail. Now I know our failure is more complete than our most dire assessments.”

  I groped for a way to reassure him. Reassuring a vicious, treacherous, deceitful creature with no regard for human life and a lack of many human concepts is difficult. Since the other two weren’t in the room, I settled on sociopathic reassurance.

  “Look, Bob. They’re elves—as far as anyone but Rendu is concerned—which means you can use them in your place. You just have to survive until Rendu comes back, right? Well, these are your buffer zone, your bodyguards, between you and a hostile world. So what if they’re cheap copies? They’re not here to serve Rendu. They’re here to serve you. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “It was not what we intended when we set out to increase our population.”

  “Well, so you’re not increasing. You’re at least helping to preserve the existing population. For now, that will have to do.”

  “You said you had a thought? Increasing the numbers of elves, Dread Lord?”

  “Why, yes. Yes, I did. You’re familiar with the way humans reproduce?”

  “Unfortunately,” he agreed, lips pressed in a thin line.

&nb
sp; “There are some details you may have missed.” I explained again, this time about eggs and sperm, zygotes, and the combination of traits from the parents. I didn’t get into gene theory, or even into actual cell theory, but a “seed” from each parent combines and grows…

  Bob got it easily enough. He’s seen generation upon generation of creatures and noted they inherit traits from both parents. He never gave it much thought, aside from using it the way a stockbreeder might. I didn’t ask what sort of stock he bred.

  “My idea,” I went on, “is to take a bit of the living flesh from you and from another First Elf—if you know one and can persuade it to cooperate—so I can combine the traits of both of you to make a new elf. If we can’t get the cooperation of another First Elf, I’m pretty sure we can still make another one just like you. Eventually, anyway.”

  “Another me?” Bob asked, face in neutral.

  “You’ve seen twins. It’s much the same thing.”

  “I am not certain I wish to be two.”

  “Oh. Well, I can work on the combining of traits, then. Do you know another First Elf who might want to help?”

  “I believe,” he stated, “I can persuade a few.”

  “Good, good. Don’t go shouting for them just yet. There are a lot of preparations. This is a project that may take a few decades.”

  “Decades,” he repeated, and waved a hand dismissively, like a wisp of smoke vanishing on the wind. “We will wait centuries, Dread Lord, knowing now feeble our own efforts have been.”

  “I should have known a few dozen years wouldn’t be a worry. All right. Stick around; I may need you on hand shortly.”

  “As you command, Dread Lord.”

  Wednesday, March 10th

  We should have everyone gathered together for the big meeting of nobles by this afternoon—we’re way ahead of schedule. I guess my signs and wonders were a bit more effective than I thought. Either that, or Lissette did something to move things along. I’m sure she’s more diplomatic than I am because I’m not.

  I’ve got the crown ready. Kammen tells me my royal wardrobe in Carrillon is still where the Demon King left it, so clothes aren’t a problem. The public gate—the one people know about, the one we shipped troops through—is charging up nicely. It’s already powered up enough to make the trip to Carrillon.

  In the course of making travel plans, I thought I was going to meet Baron Gosford. Apparently not. He set sail for Carrillon rather than take a gate with me. Well, I didn’t advertise I’d be traveling by gate. Most people probably assume I’m going to ride Bronze. More to the point, I didn’t actually invite him to hitch a ride with me, but I did make it clear he’s supposed to be at the meeting. Ah, well.

  Torvil and Beltar are sorting out who gets to escort the King through to Carrillon, but that’s going to take a day or two. First, there’s the competitive examination: a sicaricudo tournament. Second, the winners have to recover from the sicaricudo tournament.

  I know I’ve said this before, but it’s a brutal game. I cannot stress this enough. People around here don’t play “tag” anything. They beat each other for real. Their only nod to safety is using blunt instruments instead of edged weapons. I keep hearing excuses about how if it doesn’t hurt, it’s not really preparing you to face injury and all that. Courage in battle, fighting spirit, determination in the face of adversity, weeding out the weak, and so on.

  I’m glad I insisted on helmets, despite the general grumbling. People seem to think it shows a lack of courage to wear protection when it’s only practice drills. Your opponents are skillful and trying to disable you, not kill you. And there are literally dozens of people with healing spells standing around! What more do you want?

  I argued it’s a sign of how much the King loves his knights and wishes to preserve them against mischance—now wear the damn helmets!

  They’re lucky I don’t import some foam weapons and make them use the things.

  I don’t often feel a hundred percent certain about utilizing the Full Royal Authority to Issue a Decree. This one, I’m a hundred percent happy about. They did it my way, which I thought was nice of them. They even stopped griping, which was completely unexpected, but highly gratifying.

  After watching some of the sicaricudo events with Tallin attached to my leg and Caris on my lap—Caris gets to wander around the Palace as long as she has mommy’s magical leash, and Tallin is allowed to wander with her—I disengaged from the pair of them by drafting a pair of defeated knights and using them as highchairs. Sitting on shoulders, far higher than normal, the little ones were suitably amused, which allowed me to escape. I headed for my personal gate room—the one with the reflecting pool in the middle, the rapidly-becoming-a-geode one—when Heydyl skidded up to me.

  “Respects to His Majesty from the Magician T’yl. He awaits your pleasure on the iron-framed mirror!”

  “Thank you, Heydyl. How are you liking it here?”

  “Just fine, Your Majesty!” he answered, all brisk and businesslike, aside from the grin.

  “Good lad. How are your studies going?”

  “I dunno what I’m studying,” he admitted, “but I’m trying it all. I didn’t know there was so much to know.”

  “Even better. Carry on.”

  “Sire!” He spun about and hurried off to report to whoever was in charge of messengers. I suppose I really should look into how the Palace is organized and run, but when? I don’t have time to do the things I need to do, much less the things I want to do.

  I hurried to the mirror room, thinking grumpy thoughts. T’yl was in a mirror, quasi-elvish features relaxed, hands behind his head, feet up on the table, leaning back and looking at the distant ceiling. He saw me come in, plopped his feet down on the floor and waved.

  “Good morning!” he hailed.

  “Good morning to you,” I agreed. “How’s life?”

  “It has its good moments. I would still hate to part company with it.”

  “Good for you. It’s no fun.”

  “I imagine not.”

  “When are you coming home?” I asked, settling into the chair.

  “About that…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve had a chance to talk with your Banners. They’ve explained a lot, but they aren’t, what do you call it, part of your inner circle.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m told you’ve got Lotar in prison?”

  “Yep. It’s a pretty comfortable cell compared to the one he used to occupy.”

  “I think it possible you may have missed something.”

  “I’m sure I have,” I agreed. “What is it this time?”

  “He’s not the deveas of the Church of Light. He’s merely the Patriarch of Karvalen.”

  “Karvalen the city or Karvalen the kingdom?”

  “The city. I think. I’m not sure exactly on how the Church’s hierarchy is set up—it’s never been high on my list of interests. It’s possible, though, he also has authority over the secret cults within the kingdom.”

  “I suppose I’m going to get a nasty jihad note from the Church of Light about having their local representative arrested.” I made a growling sound. “I knew this was too easy.”

  “No, no—well, maybe so,” he corrected himself. “The thing I was trying to get at wasn’t the trouble in dealing with Galleron, the deveas. While Lotar was the High Priest of Karvalen, I was spying on him up down and sideways. Then my presence was… ah, required here in Arondael.”

  “You were kidnapped.”

  “It was a very polite kidnapping,” he told me. “I’ve never been confined so comfortably. It made me miss my apprenticeship in the Academy.”

  “When magicians kidnapped me, they hit me over the head repeatedly to keep me quiet until they locked me in a containment circle,” I complained.

  “You’re not a magician. You’re a monster.”

  “It’s still not fair,” I observed. “Nobody comes right out and asks for anything. Have you noticed?�
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  “Why should they?” T’yl asked, frowning. “Nobody ever gives anything away for free. If you can take it without paying for it, why wouldn’t you?”

  Which, to be fair, pretty much sums up human nature, especially here. I’m mildly disgusted.

  “Back to what you were saying about the Church of Illumination,” I deflected. “You were spying on Lotar?”

  “Yes. I was reading his mail, listening in on his meetings, that sort of thing. I wanted to have everything you could possibly want in a neat stack when you came back to home and throne. You’ve discovered most of it already, of course, but who you really need to worry about is the new Cardinal of the Hand.”

  I had a sudden and intense flashback to Tobias. I didn’t enjoy the experience. There wasn’t anything enjoyable about Tobias, except, possibly, kicking him in his groin hard enough to break it.

  Do I have more flashbacks these days? I think so. Is it because of the quantity of souls and experiences I have ingested? Is it because of Johann’s Funtime Happy Playroom? Or something else? There’s no shortage of brain-straining things in my past, that’s certain.

  Maybe I need a vacation instead of another long nap. Carribean island? Cruise ship? Rent a villa in Italy? Disneyland?

  “I see,” I said, faintly. “They have a Hand organization already set up?”

  “Oh, yes. From what I was able to discover, it is more of a secret society within the Church than a formal Order, but their leader is rumored to be among the personal advisors to the deveas of the Church.”

  “Great. Religious ninjas of the Light.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Nothing. So, who’s my problem child?”

  “The leader of the Hand?” T’yl asked, puzzled.

  “Yes, please.”

  “I don’t know. I was working on it before I… moved to Arondael.”

  “Tell your captors their timing is atrocious.”

  “They have been made aware,” he assured me, “and are properly thankful for your understanding and patience.”

  “Thanks. So, I should be on the lookout for Light-worshipping assassins?”