Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  We got Tyma a stand to hold it upright while it played. She didn’t enjoy the process of enchanting it, but that’s typical. Linnaeus had it worse with three instruments at once. Still, she was happy with the results, and her ensemble did sound better with bowed strings in it. She’s not happy with me, but she’s much less mad. At least she hasn’t hit me with the Kingsmacker.

  Late Friday night, I took a gate back to the Mountain of Power. I tried to slip away quietly and partly succeeded. Kammen and Torvil insisted on coming with me. I didn’t mind, but I made them get permission from Lissette.

  Kammen also recovered my predecessor’s rings. Nice timing. Still, they might be useful. No skinphone, though. My bet is Johann has it. Fortunately, I didn’t have it long enough to put anything really interesting in there. If he wants the number to the pizza place in my old neighborhood, he’s welcome to it.

  Bronze protested my travel plans. She didn’t want to step through a gate. She preferred to run. I agreed, so the three bipeds stepped through and Bronze ran gleefully through the tunnels under the roads.

  Once I was in the mountain, I sent for some materials, brought them with me into an unused cavern, and shut myself in. I had a lot of work I wanted to get done and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. They say you should talk it over when you’re depressed and unhappy and suchlike. Get it out there, don’t bottle it up. Rant about it, throw things, let it all out.

  That’s a load of crap. I know what happens when I rant and rave and go on a rampage. Later, when I’m in Carnivorous Ivy Land and suitably far away from anything Diogenes has repaired? Maybe. I’ll feel bad about tearing down defenseless ruins or old-growth forests, but at least I won’t have vented my plasma exhaust on anything I actually care about.

  On the other hand, if I find another omnivorous giant ant nest, it’s going to suffer a severe attack of vampire. I will go full-on Dark Lord on the thing and I won’t feel bad about it at all.

  So I got to work. First, a personal privacy spell on the room to keep people from meddling. Then a couple of magic-jet spells and a low-key containment circle raised the available power level. I connected a magical cable to the business end of each jet and wore them like gloves, using them as power supplies for cramming energy into my spells while I worked. It was surprisingly effective, a fact I resolved to, first, never tell anyone about, and second, make use of in any low-magic universe.

  For my first trick, T’yl needed an automated way to drag a soul out of a body and tie it into an empty one. I wasn’t going to come back to Karvalen and be a target on a regular basis just to voodoo somebody’s soul into an immortal meat suit. Two stone tables and a whole mess of magical sensors, target locks, spirit links, if-then logic, and some repetitive subroutines later, I had a highly-specialized gadget to do it for me. I’m sure it’s one of those vampire magic things people talk about in hushed whispers, but if they could see and manipulate living energy the way I do, they wouldn’t feel so uneasy about it.

  Of course, I suppose if people could see electricity and magnetic fields, a television wouldn’t be witchcraft, either—just complicated. Oh, well.

  While I worked, I sent Kammen a message to fetch back some boxes. I wanted two sets, one pair about the size of a small suitcase, the other pair about the size of a coffin. The smaller boxes needed all sorts of padding and velvet lining and so on. The coffins merely needed to be solid. He came back with the bigger boxes first, so I could started on those. The smaller boxes took longer, mostly because of their quality. They were a matched set of small chests, lined and padded inside.

  I fiddled with both sets for a while, magically attuning each box to its twin, even forcing their physical materials into a more identical pattern. I wanted each pair to be as close to a single box in two places as possible. It wasn’t strictly necessary, of course, but it would help.

  Trouble was, I haven’t actually built a box-gate before. This made the project a perfect distraction.

  One of the observations I’ve made on the inter-universal gate spell is the way it seems to alter everything passing through it. It’s as though there’s a sort of… I hate to use the word “frequency,” but it’ll have to do, I suppose. If every universe is like a different television channel, you can’t exist in it until you match the channel parameters. You have to have your frequency synchronized with the channel before you can exist there. If you don’t, you’re not vibrating correctly, or your internal rules of chemistry and atomic binding are wrong, or something.

  Ah! Back when my spirit was temporarily turned into an energy-state being on another plane of existence—another type of universe—it was boosted to match the energy wavelength of that universe. When I stepped down from the ersatz Asgard, I lowered my vibrational rate and came back into synchronization with the world of Karvalen. In a similar manner, that’s what a gate spell does to everything passing through it from one universe to another. Whatever passes through the geometric plane of the gate—the “surface” of it—is tuned to the universe, whichever way the object or person happens to be going.

  The net effect is the gate looks like an open doorway even though instantaneous transformations are constantly going on. I think part of the massive power requirement is the continuous transformational effect involved in affecting all the light, air, water—whatever is passing through the gate. Another reason gates like that are so awful to keep open is the multiplicity of factors they have to alter in real time, each one being the equivalent of a major transformational spell.

  I suspect turning lead to gold is easier. That involves removing three protons and about seven neutrons, depending on which isotope of gold you want—some are radioactive, which is probably a bad idea for money.

  Hmm. Wait a minute. If money is radioactive, people will spend it quickly. Having money circulate is vital to any economy. And radioactive money won’t get stored in large quantity; rich people will be rich because of their income, not because of their hoarded wealth. They’ll spend it as fast as it comes in. Maybe radioactive money would actually be a good thing…

  No. I’ve had silly ideas before, but that one takes the Cherenkov cake.

  Still, turning lead into gold is child’s play to a man with a magical cyclotron. Making useful quantities probably takes even longer than growing a diamond lattice, though. Dealing with things on an atomic scale means you have to seriously fast-forward your work to see material results. Diamond lattice structures are still a chemical reaction, not an atomic one, and have the advantage of being rigidly, regularly organized.

  On the other hand, turning lead into gold could be a good experiment… later. I have enchanted objects to build. Back to the subject at hand: Magic boxes!

  Working on the correspondence of the boxes gave me a major project and kept me occupied. The idea was to alter the shape of a gate spell’s transformation effect. Instead of a flat plane, I wanted it to affect a volume. Two volumes, actually, one in each box. Since two boxes are linked through their enchantment, when one box activates, it opens a tiny gateway to its twin, wherever it is. Through this tiny gateway, the gate spells trade spaces, changing the interior of one box into the interior of the other box, transferring the contents, as part of the defined volume of space, from one to the other.

  If done correctly, every time both boxes close, they switch contents. Since the actual gate connection was so tiny—really a communications link more than anything else—the power requirement was small. And since the transfer was designed to be as nearly instantaneous as possible, it wouldn’t have to be open for long, either. This would make it easy for Diogenes to deliver elf-clones to Karvalen. Full-grown elf bodies could then be used to bribe magicians and infant elves could be used to bribe Bob. Excuse me. I didn’t mean “bribe.” I meant they could be used to very kindly assist people with their personal problems.

  Hmm. I need to include some sort of signal they’re ready to receive an elf. I’d hate for one to sit in the Karvalen box for so long that it went bad. Maybe if t
hey close the lid on the Karvalen side, it sends a read-to-receive signal. When Diogenes sends an elf-body through, the Karvalen box-lid automatically opens. That should work…

  I started with a full gate spell and took it apart, reducing it to function modules. Getting the two boxes to connect wasn’t so hard, but the transfer portion, itself, switching the interior spaces… that was tricky. Getting it to work at all was a headache, but a welcome distraction. When I did get the thing to work, I tested the small boxes as they sat side by side. Several of the test objects came through the switch relatively intact, but badly distorted. Living things weren’t going to take it well. Something wasn’t quite right, so I started debugging it.

  I had to make some sacrifices. What I wanted was a pair of boxes that simply switched back and forth. While, technically, they do that, they tend to ruin whatever is inside by partially blending the contents. The way around it is to leave one box empty. I can’t switch both sides at once with this technique, and I’m not sure why. I think it needs a third box, always empty, to act as temporary storage—a buffer—while the spell shifts things around. That ought to work, but it’s not something I actually need for this project.

  Aside from my box-gates, I’ve done some work on my rings. My Personal Options ring now includes a cleaning spell, skin-changing magic, and a sensory muting spell for my comfort and convenience. I took a break from the box-gates the very first time I hit a sunrise and had to smell myself. I admit, I’m easily distracted right now.

  The three-gem sapphire ring now stores my eyeball illusion, rounding out my human disguise. The other two sapphires will serve as enchantment points for spells to prevent magical detection—one to thwart active detection, the other to conceal my normal aura from passive detection.

  Since I don’t want to wear a fistful of rings, I’m thinking I’ll only wear one more, the deflection-spell ring. Wearing three rings is unusual, perhaps, but not overwhelmingly so. The healing ring and the amulet I can put on if I need them. On the other hand, I don’t really want to wear the amulet. It does things with shadows and mine is already doing weird things.

  I think I’ll keep my dedicated, one-function Ring of Obfuscation handy, though. You never know when a spare cloaking device might be useful. And I’m leaning toward enchanting a magical belt. Maybe it can have an inertia-damping spell. I like being able to go around corners like a normal human being even when I’m moving at inhuman speeds. That would be useful in so many ways… I decided to go ahead with it. It’s one less thing I’ll have to cast when I’m in a hurry, and that’s the whole point of having a magical object, isn’t it?

  I’m developing quite a collection of magical crap. Maybe I should get a jewelry box. Or open a magic shop somewhere out there in another magical universe. Or not. I doubt I’d enjoy haggling over prices with adventurers. I’m more of a custom-built kind of guy. You want a magical doodad to do what? Yes, I think I can do that. I like a challenge. When do you need it? That sort of thing.

  There are so many things I can think of which might be useful. Maybe a new amulet, one to do the shadow-shifting illusions to help me be stealthy? One I made myself, so I know how it works, and can work with my shadow’s quirky nature? Or something to project a don’t-notice-me spell, allowing me to blend in better? Maybe an enchanted wristwatch with time-zone dials, something I could use to keep track of the current time in multiple universes? No, that will require a lot more research before I can even start. I suppose I could put a deflection spell into a wristwatch. It seems appropriate, somehow, to have a bracelet for deflecting bullets. Can’t imagine why.

  If I get a fancy wristwatch with jewels set as the hour marks, can I put a dozen enchantments in it? There’s something to get the old mental gears clicking.

  I hate to bother you…

  I jumped a little at the unexpected comment. I looked around.

  Not me, Boss, Firebrand told me.

  “Oh.” I glanced up at the ceiling. “Yes?”

  I know you’re busy, but will we get a chance to talk?

  “You could have had a priest send a message,” I pointed out.

  I’m not healthy for them to have divine messages dumped into their brains, remember? And nobody has the Brazier of Divine Revelation going.

  “I guess that’s fair. What’s on your mind?”

  You’re about to finish up here and leave this world. Do you think we could have a discussion through the BDR?

  “As long as you’re not about to stick me with some holy quest, religious geas, or ecclesiastical duty, sure. If you are, my answer will be three words, starting with ‘go’ and ending with ‘yourself’.”

  You’re not in a good mood.

  “Not really, no.”

  Okay. How about you give me a call when you get to the Temple?

  “I can do that.”

  Thank you.

  And the inside of my head stopped echoing. It’s a nice feeling.

  I grumbled to myself and Firebrand as I tied off and locked down all the things I was working on. I stomped down the tunnel to the Temple of Shadow. A number of people were outside the main sanctuary, waiting, which surprised me. I wouldn’t think there was a lot of activity in the very-late-night or very-early-morning. Then again, I’m not one of the clergy. I’m not even a worshipper. What do I know?

  I went in and they closed the doors behind me. Someone had thoughtfully filled the brazier, but I had to light it and get the smoke-face going.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, yourself,” I answered. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, I don’t actually want anything. Quite the opposite. Remember how I promised you a present?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about it and doing a little research. I think I’ve got it worked out.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh, yes. But I’ll need your help.”

  “I’m listening,” I admitted, cautiously. I wasn’t about to agree to anything without knowing exactly what he wanted.

  “You know I can’t channel big, miraculous powers through humans. They have to go through a rite of ordination to attune themselves to my energy, and even then they tend to burn out if I push too hard. You, on the other hand—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’ve been over this. I take it you want to channel a miracle through me?”

  “Yes.”

  “To give me a present.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you get out of it?”

  “Is that any way to talk?”

  “Stow it. You’re not giving me a present just to try to cheer me up.”

  “I’m not?”

  I paused and thought about it. Would I give someone a present just to cheer them up? Yes, I suppose I would. And if I would, was it beyond possibility he would? Obviously not. Maybe I was being a little suspicious and cynical. If I was wrong to feel that way, I might feel guilty about it later, but I might also be right.

  “Sorry. Not buying it.”

  “Hmm. All right, how’s this? I’ve never actually done it before. I’d like to do it once, just so I have a concept of the scale. I’d tell you about the power flow, but I haven’t gotten around to actually inventing a way to measure it. Maybe I can call one divine energy-unit a theo, from the prefix of ‘theology,’ maybe. How many theos can I route through you, and how many can I route through a human, that sort of thing.”

  “You have my sympathies. I keep meaning to get around to the magical version of that, with thaums instead of theos.”

  There was a momentary silence. I got the feeling he was taken aback a bit.

  “Do you think… maybe… when you do get that worked out, we could compare notes?”

  “Happy to help. Your theo-scale may help me, too.”

  “Happy to help. But, about your present…”

  “What do you want? Specifically.”

  “Well, you’ve been as busy as Celebrimbor, forging rings of power and other gadgets, so I thought we might as we
ll make something together. And, since you’re planning to leave, I thought this might be our last opportunity. I was thinking of your cloak. What heroic magical figure is complete without a miraculous cloak? I can think of several without even venturing into role-playing games.”

  I thought about it. A magic cloak wasn’t a bad thought. And as long as I was building my portable magical inventory, why not?

  “What do you want to do to it?”

  “Ideally, we set up here, on the altar-stage. It’ll be easiest. We’ve already got the incense and coals thing, maybe you can do some bleeding into a bucket.”

  “The bleeding part isn’t going to work at night.”

  “Good point. It’s probably more important you’re undead than it is to have ceremonial trappings. Humans need all the help they can get, but you can handle heavier loads without attunement accessories.”

  “Fair enough. What will the cloak do?”

  “First off, I’d rather surprise you.”

  “And second?”

  “Ah… I’m not completely sure.”

  “Beg pardon, god?”

  “Oh, shut up. I haven’t done this before. I’m creating a holy artifact from scratch—my very first one!”

  “If it’s a religious object, it’s a relic. Artifacts are magical things people don’t know how to create anymore.”

  “I’m relatively new to the god business. Cut me some slack, will you?”

  “Okay. I sympathize with your troubles. We can give it a try.”

  “Thank you. I know you don’t enjoy this sort of thing—“

  “Shut up and let’s do this before I change my mind.”

  “I’m sorry. Of course. Just lay your cloak on the altar, please.” I did so and it started to ripple, slightly, as though a stiff breeze blew across it.

  “How’s that?” I asked. The smoke-face looked over my shoulder at the cloak.