Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  The horseman finally made it to the top. The horse decided it had enough of the long, narrow bridge and bolted the last few yards. It clattered into the courtyard amid the rider’s curses and finally came to a shivering, sweating halt. The rider dismounted and left the horse where it stood. He approached me and I sized him up.

  He was a tall man, although starting to stoop with age. Grey salted his hair and streaked his beard. He wore a light, long sword, slightly curved; it reminded me of the type I had made for Malana and Malena, patterned after an elvish design. Maybe they were in fashion. It hung from a belt-and-baldric, along with a red knight’s sash as well as a ribbon and badge I didn’t understand. His clothing was good: high boots, tight trousers, billowing shirt, and broad-brimmed hat.

  “Are you Halar, King of Karvalen, Conqueror of Rethven, and Lord of Carrillon?” he asked.

  Why does no one understand how to greet a person? I mean, whatever happened to “Hello! My name is… I’m pleased to meet you. May I ask who you are?” Am I hopelessly archaic? Or am I oversensitive about these things? Is it a problem with me, rather than everyone else? Maybe I should just get over it.

  “I’ve been called all those things and more,” I agreed, not standing up. “Who are you?”

  “The Baron of Karvalen requests the honor of your presence.”

  And so it begins.

  “Well,” I replied, leaning back a bit to look up at him. I took note he failed to remove his hat. “It seems to me you haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

  “I am merely a messenger—”

  “I’ll have your name!” I snapped at him. “Name! Duties! Now!”

  “Sir Telmon, Herald of the Baron of Karvalen,” he replied, startled.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I told him, and rose. I held out my hand. He looked at it with a puzzled air, still recovering from the sudden shift between mild-mannered, impatient, and mild-mannered again. He reached out and squeezed my forearm; I returned the gesture. Not quite what I had in mind, but, well, local customs. What can you expect?

  “Now,” I went on, still pleasantly, “I understand the baron would like to see me. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” I prompted.

  “Yes… Your Majesty?”

  “That’s better. You may tell the baron I will be pleased to receive him at his convenience.”

  “His lordship bid me return with you.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, looking miffed.

  He said you can’t bring him with you, Firebrand supplied. What he really means is he’s not going anywhere and you don’t have the power to force him.

  Sir Telmon’s face shifted into neutral and locked there. If he could do that at will, he could be a murderous poker player.

  “On the other hand,” I added, smiling, “the baron is welcome to visit whenever he chooses to dare the Kingsway.”

  “He will not like this,” Sir Telmon warned. I gestured him closer, then closer again. I laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

  “He sent a messenger with a summons to the man he calls his King. So tell him exactly this: The baron is welcome to visit whenever he chooses to dare the Kingsway. Say nothing else about this matter. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  I tightened my grip on his shoulder, pressing fingernails into his fancy shirt.

  “Excuse me,” I offered. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

  “I do, Your Majesty.” I let go of him and he stepped back to bow.

  “You have our leave to depart.”

  He did, or tried. His horse didn’t like the idea of being ridden down the ramp, though, so he wound up walking, leading his horse.

  You seem irritated, Boss.

  “I am.”

  Why? He went away.

  “Yes, but it feels as though I’m being roped into being a ruler again, somehow. I don’t like it.” I thought for a moment. “Maybe I should call Lissette.”

  Maybe you should.

  “Then I will.”

  I checked the mirror in my workroom. It was already enchanted for all the purposes I was going to need from it, so calling the capitol was no problem. Except… it was a problem. I didn’t have the specifics of a mirror to target in the palace—I didn’t know the phone number, basically. I could hit anything in Carrillon outside the Palace, but calling the Palace required more specific information to connect with a mirror inside the defenses.

  On the other hand, I could find the local wizard’s guild in Carrillon, bother someone there, and get a message delivered to the palace with the number of my own mirror… and probably have a hundred or more people know how to call me before the sun was out of the sky.

  No, I needed a better way to call Lissette privately. Maybe a visit? That might work out better. The new roads were surprisingly nice. We could easily make the trip in one night if nobody tried to stop us. That, naturally, had its own issues. Maybe I should bite the bullet and put in the work to build an enchanted gate. Then all I’d have to worry about is the return trip. And a prototype gate would be a good start for further refining my understanding of the gate spell—

  The Kingsway alarm went off again. For a two-mile-long ramp, uphill all the way and dangerously narrow, it saw a lot of traffic.

  I went to the great hall and pushed the door open, not waiting for whoever it was. As the courtyard appeared in my field of view, so did my visitor. He was barefoot and wore a threadbare robe. Light-grey eyes, light-brown hair, and what I think of as a farmer’s tan gave me the impression he spent much of his twenty-something years outside. His staff was merely a big stick, useful for walking, and he seemed slightly winded, as though he hurried up the Kingsway.

  I used to have a staff. A dryad gave it to me, but I lost it in a shipwreck. I wonder what’s become of it.

  Of course, I recognized the symbol on his chest, hanging from a chain about his neck. It wasn’t the symbol of the Church of Light I recalled, but it bore some similarities. It was a three-inch disk of metal, possibly brass, polished to a gleam. Carved or molded into the surface of the disk was a Generic Masculine Face. They used to use a solar disk, but this was a pretty decent alternative. Obviously, this was a priest of the Church of Light, but not a member of the sub-sect, the Hand (or Fist) of Light.

  We traded looks for a moment.

  “Halar the Undying?” he asked.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Perrin, a priest of the true Church.”

  Told you.

  “Yes,” I agreed, “I am Halar.”

  “I am a servant of the Holy Light. I wield the Fire of Purity. By that power, I cast out the darkness which dwells now within you!” he intoned, and presented his disk.

  Now, I was under the impression the Devourer ate the deity in question. Or, at any rate, the deity was defunct. For years, the priests had used rote prayers—spells in all but name—rather than utilizing the power of their faith to draw on the power of their god. Maybe I misunderstood somewhere along the line, or maybe I was simply wrong. It could be I never actually encountered a True Believer. Maybe gods are more resilient than I thought and he made a comeback. After all, if you persecute a religion, the ones who stay through the persecution get downright fanatical about it—and gods do love their fanatical faithful.

  Whatever the reason, I saw the face—well, felt the face—look at me. The gaze had weight to it. Whoever this Perrin guy was, he believed. Tobias presented me with an amulet, once, at night, and I handled it without so much as a warm tingle. I think Tobias believed more in the Hand than he believed in his god. Perrin’s presentation didn’t hurt, but I knew I was… Seen? Examined? Judged? It was still daytime, too, so Someone was paying attention to Perrin’s request.

  After ten seconds or so, the face stopped looking at me. Once more, it was merely an amulet, a piece of polished metal, not even magical.

  What would happen if he did this at nigh
t? Did I want to find out? Somehow, I felt no urge to experiment.

  “Thank you for the thought,” I told Perrin. “Would you like to come in? It’s a long walk to my door and it’s cold out. I can get you something hot to drink, if you like.”

  Perrin sagged visibly, jaw dropping, eyes widening. He let the amulet fall back to his chest and stared at me.

  “But… but…”

  “Search me. I don’t understand it, either.”

  “The flames of purification… the destruction of darkness…”

  “Yes, I get it. Thank you for trying. I’m about to have dinner—regular dinner, with real food. You can share it with me, if you like. I think there’s apple cider in a cold room. I can heat some up for you.”

  “You…” he began, and didn’t know where to go with it. “I tried to illuminate the darkness in your evil soul, and you’re inviting me to dinner?”

  “You expected me to be upset because you tried to help me? Wouldn’t that be ungrateful, even uncivilized?”

  “I…” he trailed off. His dumbfoundment rapidly turned to perplexity, possibly bewilderment.

  “Besides, it didn’t hurt,” I observed. “Come on. I’m sure you want to discuss it and I’m about to eat. It would be rude to leave you out here or to eat in front of you. Please, come in.” I stepped back and gestured him inside. He came in, cautiously, as though expecting to be mobbed by a thousand minor demons. Yes, I know that look, too.

  We went down to the kitchen and I cooked things. I cheated and warmed up a mug of cider for him with magic, but it gave him something to do with his hands while I fried potatoes, dazhu, and slices of umati—rather like avocados, but shaped more like zucchini, with a hint of meaty flavoring. The nuts inside are not edible, however; much too hard and bitter beyond belief. I also found an earthenware jug of wine; that went on the table, in case his faith allowed it. And a pitcher of water, of course. He drank the cider in one big draught and set the mug down.

  “Why aren’t you smoking?” he asked, almost plaintively. He fingered his amulet, looking back and forth between it and me.

  “I gave it up for Lent.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Because I’m not evil?” I guessed. “I mean, I was, but I got better.”

  “I don’t understand. Did I illuminate the dark places in your soul?”

  “Doubt it. No, I mean, I used to be possessed by a dark spirit until several months ago. Now it’s gone and I feel much better. I’m back in control of myself.”

  “Someone beat me to it?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I’m pleased it was done,” he lamented. I doubted him, but didn’t say so.

  “Were you waiting around all this time hoping I’d show up?”

  “Oh, I preach down in the city.”

  “I thought there were no temples to the light in Karvalen.”

  “You forbade them, yes. We still preach in the streets.”

  “Fair enough. What do you preach?”

  For future reference, never ask a fanatic about his religion. It sets him off about it and it’s hard to get him to stop without resorting to violence.

  Perrin was delighted to explain about how his religion—the One True Church—was the ultimate authority on absolute good. What I got as take-aways from his rant… excuse me. That’s impolite. He sermonized or preached, but calling it a rant makes it sound like he belonged on a soapbox on a streetcorner. Come to think of it, if he preached in the streets, he might.

  He didn’t fit the image, though. He was well-spoken and persuasive and he really, truly believed everything he was saying. Who knows? Maybe he was even right. There could be a god of goodness around here. There seem to be lots of the things, like roaches in a garbage pile. Maybe that’s unfair, too. They could be like gears in a highly-complex clockwork, but I doubt it.

  At any rate, what I got from our talk was the idea his religion no longer held major temples full of gold and the glorification of their deity. When the old church cracked and fell to pieces, the rotten parts fell away, leaving only the pure, clean kernel inside the rotted fruit. Now it sprouted and spread across the land, forswearing the pride and greed of the old ways. It relied instead on humility, faith, and the desire to do good.

  I can’t say I object to that. It makes me worry about my sunrise-sensitive skin, but I can’t say I object.

  “What about the other gods?” I asked. I held up the wine jug and he shook his head, so I pushed more cider toward him. “Are they considered good or evil?”

  “Anything that distracts from the true faith is evil,” he stated. “While other gods may offer a good harvest or many children, they concern themselves not with the purity of a man’s soul. They only bargain for his faith by offering the comforts of his body.”

  “That’s an interesting observation. Why would people worship your god, then?”

  “Because it is right,” he declared, passionately. He quaffed his cider and smacked the mug down. “He is the light, and the truth. All things of darkness fall before His shining gaze. The flesh is weak and fails the test; the soul is all that matters.”

  “So, this mortal world is inherently filled with darkness, but our souls can be rescued from this dark pit of materialism?”

  “Yes. Yes, exactly. You put it well.”

  “Thanks. I took an elective course in comparative religion. And what happens to our souls when we’re rescued?”

  “As creatures of light, we return to Him, as wayward children to their father, and are joined with Him in everlasting and eternal glory, becoming one with the Lord of Light.”

  “We become part of your god?”

  “Yes. In the beginning, He created the world to be a thing of light and beauty. But in creating the world, the world created shadows. Where there is light in the world, there are always shadows. Yet, shadows cannot exist within His sight, for the glance of the Lord of Light dispels them. Thus did He make men, and elves, and all the creatures of the world. But these, too, had their shadows, and the shadows spread. These shadows infested the world, until half the world was in darkness. But the shadows could not conquer the light. They struggle with each other, back and forth, but the light always wins.”

  “Interesting.” I didn’t mention I’d heard other creation myths about this place. “But the light can’t be everywhere, so the shadows always return?”

  “Until we are purged of all the things of the world,” he agreed, “and return to become one with our God, to live forever in His brilliant glory.”

  “Fair enough.” It sounded like a mashup of Christianity and Buddhism to me, but what do I know? I’m no theologian. I’m not even a decent philosopher. Whatever my personal opinion, I wasn’t going to offend him by deliberately insulting his religion. Besides, I know some of the local gods. The default proposition for the afterlife, at least around here, involves some sort of refining process in the underworld followed by reincarnation. It sounded—at least to me—as though the Lord of Light planned to gulp down the souls of his followers, instead. Then again, I’m a vampire. I could be projecting.

  But I’m still suspicious.

  “So, where does that leave me?” I asked.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Let me put it another way. What happens when you shine a light on a thing of darkness?”

  “It is destroyed by the touch of the light,” he replied, promptly.

  “What happens when you shine a light on a regular person? Does the darkness inside him go away?”

  “The darkness in the soul is a complicated thing, meant to be overcome by the efforts of the individual, with the aid of the Lord of Light. Thus, the soul is purified and made stronger by wrestling with its own demons.”

  “I can’t really dispute that,” I observed. “I have some experience in the matter. But what did you expect to happen when you held up your amulet and aimed your faith at me?”

  Perrin wore a sheepish expression and wouldn’t meet my eyes. He fiddle
d with his empty mug for a moment.

  “I, uh… I expected you to disappear.”

  “Seriously?” I think I was staring at him.

  “Yes.”

  “So, what now? I mean, obviously, I’m still here.”

  “I don’t know. You are the Demon King.”

  “And I told you, that was when I was possessed. I’m better now.”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Don’t worry,” I told him, and patted him on the shoulder. “I still have my own inner darkness to deal with. Believe me, I know it. I’m working on it as much—or more—than anyone else. Thank you for trying to help, though. I appreciate that you tried to help me.”

  “You are most welcome,” he replied, automatically.

  “Come on. I’ll show you out.”

  I led him to the Kingsway and he stopped on the threshold. The wind was picking up and a few flecks of snow danced around us.

  “I thought you were a demon,” Perrin admitted. “I really did. I’m glad you’re not.”

  “You’re convinced of it?”

  “It is obvious. You stood before the Holy Gaze and were not consumed. Whatever you are, you cannot be a demon.”

  “Huh. I suppose that’s fair. But I do have one more question, if I may.”

  “I am always pleased to counsel those who seek wisdom.”

  “I don’t know about wisdom, but I’m missing a magician. Two, in fact. The magicians Tort and T’yl. I can’t find them. I don’t suppose you happen to know where they might have gone off to? Or even what has happened to them?”

  “I regret I do not know. I was not aware they were missing.”

  “Okay. Thought I’d ask. If you get a chance, would you ask around?”

  “I will, but be aware they are servants to the Demon King that once you were.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  “Indeed. Their souls may be stained with the blood of innocents and the corruption of the Lord of Darkness.”

  “Okay. I’ll bear it in mind. But before I can help them work through that, I have to find them.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you, Perrin.”