Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  Seldar appeared in the mirror. The background was a temple of some sort. Seldar himself was… Okay, yes, he was older. I’m really not dealing well with that. He also seemed large, but that was to be expected, as well. All my original knights were subjected to growth spells, encouraging size, strength, speed, stamina—all the physical attributes a warrior would need. Seldar was one of the few who could actually cast the spell combinations, and one of the first to get them.

  “Sire,” he acknowledged, and bowed. His voice was deeper than before, too. Well, he was an adolescent when I met him.

  “Someone’s at my door,” I told him. “I’m sorry; I meant to have a conversation with you. Can I call you back?”

  “I am at your disposal.”

  I hung up on him, put the mirror away, and headed to the front door. It was still closed when I arrived. A quick look through the peephole mirror showed me the same man, alone, with his hand in the hole. It seemed he could follow instructions. Fair enough. I pushed on the opposite side of the door and it swung open. I stepped forward with my half, wondering what he would do.

  “Hello?” he called. He took a step forward. “Hello?”

  “I’m right here,” I said, coming around the door behind him. He jumped. “Be careful; an open door is not an invitation.”

  “I have been sent—”

  “Obviously. I’m going to guess you’re a knight in service to the Baron of the Eastern Marches and he’s sent you to deliver a message of some sort. Very well. Enter freely and of your own will, but be aware you already entered my personal domain.”

  While I spoke, I sized him up. Tall-ish, about five-eleven, with a lean build. Black hair, black eyes, a solid tan, one missing tooth slightly to the left of center, callused hands. He moved easily, obviously used to heavy steel armor and associated gear. His accent seemed familiar. I couldn’t quite place it.

  I turned my back on him and marched the length of the great hall while he stood there. I seated myself on the dragon’s-head throne and pretended to relax.

  “Well?” I asked.

  He’s scared, Boss.

  He should be. I didn’t say the baron could send another messenger. I said he could come visit. Although, I added, I suppose I shouldn’t hold this guy responsible. I doubt he had much choice in the matter.

  He entered. I wasn’t surprised; bravery is a prerequisite to becoming a knight. He kept his spine straight and his footsteps regular as he approached. He bowed at the foot of the dais, directly in front of the dragon’s head.

  “Majesty,” he said. “I have come from the Baron Gosford, Lord of the Fortress of the East, Warden of the Eastern Marches.”

  “Go on.”

  “He bids me say to you he is unable to come to you and he wishes to hold private converse.”

  “You look familiar,” I told him. “Who are you?”

  “I am Sir Dantos of the plains, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah. You’re from one of the plains tribes?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “It must be an interesting story how you came to be a knight in the baron’s service.”

  “Perhaps it is, Your Majesty.”

  “Do they still talk about me, out on the plains?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. Odd, considering the temperature.

  “Are you afraid, Sir Dantos of the plains?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Not an instant of hesitation. I liked that.

  “Then you should be made welcome.” I sprang off the throne and down the steps of the dais. “Come along. And stop being formal. My house; my rules. You may address me as ‘Halar,’ at least until I tell you otherwise.”

  I led him into the kitchen, my preferred audience chamber. I think it has a warm, personal feel to it. It’s hard to hold to court manners in a kitchen, and court manners make me uncomfortable. With a sandwich in one hand a mug of tea in the other, he seemed less fearful and more nonplussed. I urged him to try something from the fruit bowl.

  “Now,” I began, propping my feet up on another stool and leaning against the wall, “what’s the baron really want? And please don’t go my-lording me. Go ahead and explain, in your own words. Whatever it is, you’ll be fine.”

  Mary came in, looking grumpy. She paused in the door and Dantos paused when he saw her.

  I invited her in, made introductions. Dantos rose to bow. Mary nodded and sat down when he did. Apparently, whatever she wanted would wait—probably our date, assuming she was done being upset with me about the whole fatherhood thing. I really do need to do something nice for her; I may not understand why she’s upset, but the fact she is upset is all that really matters.

  “My… Halar, I mean,” Dantos began. “The baron has not made me privy to his desires, but if you wish me to guess?”

  “By all means.”

  “There are many rumors about you. Do you know of them?”

  “I know some of them. Does anyone ever know all the rumors?”

  “Fairly said. There are many, for you. Some say you have become a god; others say you were a demon and were banished. You came to this world through the Gate of Shadow for vengeance on the Hand. You completed your vengeance, stayed awhile, and departed for your homeland. You have abdicated; you have turned over your crown to the Queen; you have begun seeking among your children for a worthy heir. You plan a war with the viksagi, or the frost giants, or the ice giants. You plan to war with the Witches of Kamshasa. You plan to spread your kingdom over the people of the plains and the cities beyond. You plan to conquer to Mountains of the Sun. You are secretly Rendu, of the Heru, creator of the world, a god of the elves. You conspire with the Father of Darkness to—”

  “That’s enough,” I cut him off. “There are more rumors than sense in the kingdom. Basically, nobody knows anything and they’re telling lies to sound smarter. Fine. How does this affect the baron and I?”

  “I believe the baron wishes to declare himself King of the East, using the Teeth of the World’s Edge as a barrier between himself and the Queen of Karvalen.”

  “It’s going to be confusing if this is Karvalen, the city, and that’s Karvalen, the kingdom,” I noted. Dantos shrugged.

  “That will be his problem.”

  “And he wants me to… what? Approve? Give him permission?”

  “I think he wants you to come down and be proven an impostor. Your arrival here, now, makes it difficult to consider a declaration such as that. Only a fool would take such a risk.”

  “When the Demon King shows up on the night before you planned to declare war on him, it’s got to be nerve-wracking,” I admitted.

  “Exactly. He would like to disprove you. Failing that, I do not know if he would try to kill you.”

  “You don’t seem to have any trouble believing who I am,” I noted. “Why is that?”

  Dantos got up from his stool and slowly knelt, bending forward and placing his forehead on the floor. He shifted into a language of the plains tribes. I didn’t need a translation spell for it; I recognized the phrasing and Firebrand supplied me with particulars.

  “Bless us in the shadows, Lord of Night, and be kind until the dawn.”

  Dantos rose and resumed his seat. Apparently, he thought that was an answer to my question.

  Well, crap.

  “I have a question,” Mary piped up. Dantos and I both turned to her. I nodded encouragingly. “Dantos—I said that right? Good. Dantos, correct me where I’m wrong, but you’re a knight sworn to the service of this Baron Goshdarn or whatever his name is, right?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Yet, there you sit, blabbing about how you suspect your lord of rebellious, even treasonous plans—I’m not sure of the difference between rebellious and treasonous, but they amount to the same thing in that the baron’s going to get himself killed. Right?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Why are you telling us this? I mean, you’re in service to the lo
cal lord. He didn’t send you up here to negotiate, did he?”

  “No, my lady. My mission was to persuade the King to come down by whatever means I might.”

  “Why did he send you?” I asked.

  “I am a plainsman. It is said our faces cannot be read by any but our wives.”

  “Fair enough, I guess.”

  “Back to my point,” Mary insisted. “Shouldn’t you be busy lying like a tired dog to get him down the mountain?”

  “My baron did command this, yes,” Dantos agreed, “but, while my duty is to my baron, his authority comes from the King. Ultimately, my loyalty, like all knights in service to any lord, is to my King, and the Lord of Night. If the Lord of Night wishes to send me back to the baron in chains for my treachery, then shall I stand the Last Watch, hanging in a cage of iron from the Baron’s walls. I will not lie to the King, nor sit silent when he commands me to speak.”

  Mary turned to me.

  “I like him. Can we keep him?”

  “I’m not sure I can send him back, actually,” I mused. “If you go back empty-handed, what’s going to happen?”

  “Am I commanded to conceal my disobedience to my baron?”

  “Let’s say you are.”

  “Then I will be silent and report only that I failed.”

  “And what will the baron do to you?”

  “He will be disappointed and frustrated. I do not think he will take any action against me. He knows, or thinks he knows, the magnitude of the task.”

  “What would you rather do? Stay here, or go back?”

  “I have a wife and child, my King. Where I go, they must go also.”

  “Fine by me. They’re welcome to come up, too. Or I could ship the three of you off to Carrillon with a note to the Queen about finding you a position. Whatever you like.”

  “If I have the choice, my King, I will choose to stay with you.”

  “Okay. Come with me. I’ll introduce you to the lower door. If your wife is okay with it, you can bring your family up whenever.”

  Once I showed Sir Dantos out the entryway, Mary took my hand and firmly escorted me to our private chambers.

  “Am I in trouble?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  I took it as a good sign.

  Mary opened the makeup kit and started to work on my face.

  “I was trying to call Seldar when Dantos showed up,” I told her. She didn’t stop. “I really do need to talk to him.”

  “Which is more important? Your phone call or our date?”

  Okay, I’m sometimes stupid. Sometimes I’m a complete idiot. On the other hand, I’m not sure if there’s anyone in two universes who’s that dumb.

  “I have spells for my face,” I pointed out.

  “It’s a city full of wizardry,” she countered.

  “Yes, but it’s rude to poke someone else’s spells.”

  “And anyone who is rude enough to do so may be powerful enough to not care what most people think.”

  I changed the subject.

  “Mind if I ask why you don’t like the idea of me being a dad?”

  “Yes.”

  Okay, I failed to change the subject. I shut up and let her work her makeup magic. It wasn’t really much of a disguise, all things considered. She lightened my hair and beard, had me wear the green contact lenses, darkened my skin several shades, and did something subtle with my cheekbones and eyebrows. My face was more rounded, less angular, but I couldn’t tell exactly how she did it. I thought I looked like Santa Claus after the Grecian Formula commercial.

  “Very nice,” I observed, regarding myself in a mirror. “Ever consider a career in the theater?”

  “Yes. I worked as a cosmetologist for a while, too, way back in the ancient days of my youth.”

  “You may have missed your calling.”

  “I was always told to do what you love,” she retorted. “Hypocrisy. They tell you that, then they tell you to stop stealing stuff, even make you give it back. Most unfair.”

  I chuckled and opened a wardrobe.

  “What do we wear?”

  She picked out my clothes for me so I would blend in better. Since I wanted to wear the rings, she included gloves with the cold-weather gear. I cut my fingertalons and filed them blunt so they didn’t rip through the fingertips of the gloves.

  “Where, exactly, are we going?” I wanted to know.

  “If we don’t dawdle, we may manage to take in lunch, a couple of shows, dinner, and still make it back before sunset,” she replied. “You may be perfectly happy living in a mountaintop cave with your spells and mirrors and whatever, but I need to go out and do things. You are coming along.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  We left the palace through Mary’s secret door. I stayed wrapped in a dust-colored cloak over plain breeches, leggings, and three layers of tunic. Firebrand had something to say about being left behind, but it’s a big piece of steel and more than a little distinctive. Instead, I brought along a sharmi—a broad-bladed shortsword—concealed under my cloak.

  Mary was dressed more fancifully, but not greatly so. Her cloak was dark blue, trimmed with a little fur, and her clothes were both of nicer material and more flattering cut. It was appropriate for members of the middle class on their day off, according to her. I didn’t much care for the wriage containing her hair; I like her hair.

  Neither of us wore an over-the-shoulder ribbon. Being an agent of the Crown might be asking for trouble if the local baron was considering secession from the kingdom.

  The undermountain, as always, was nicely warm. The public hallways were well-lit; I recognized the spells. At least I knew where those went; sunlight and artificial light combined to keep the place comfortably bright. Not having sunlight in the halls of the upper palace area was actually a good idea, come to think of it.

  The halls were like streets—smaller in some districts, feeding into larger thoroughfares, and those connected to huge, arching halls fit for giants. There was a stronger impression of natural, almost organic architecture involved; everything seemed more rounded, less carved. None of the halls—streets?—were crowded, but they were usually busy and surprisingly clean. Much of the city lived and worked inside the mountain. I wondered if it was possible to never go out at all.

  I talked with Mary about it as we walked; she’d found most goods and services available—tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, butcher, baker, even candle and candle-stick makers. I’d have to say it wasn’t merely possible to live entirely under the mountain, but easy and even convenient.

  Everyone wore some magic. Most of it was on clothing—minor glamours to enhance the color or add highlights. Other spells kept clothes clean or dry, hair in place, monitored access to purses to prevent pickpocketing, acted as timers, and so on. We passed hundreds of people and at least twice as many spells. No enchantments, though; those are much more difficult and expensive. But since almost everyone could cast at least minor spells, they did.

  We left the undercity through the twin pivots of the western doors. During the day, they open both the inner and the outer door to facilitate traffic. At night, or in times of trouble, the two doors would act like an airlock to control access. With both of them open—rotated parallel to the hallway—they formed a center wall to divide the hallway into one-way streets. Three other sets of doors do the same thing, each set in a cardinal direction.

  In the overcity, Mary knew exactly where she wanted to go. We walked down through the grand curves of the main streets, switched back and forth at intersections. We even took a walk through a park on our way to lunch. I liked the park. It didn’t have roads or paved walkways, but there were well-trodden footpaths. The trees weren’t impressive; the park was only about nine years old. Still, it had real dirt underfoot and a combination of grass, flowers, and small trees. Everything was still growing wild and could use a gardener.

  Or, on the other hand, maybe it didn’t need one. Aboveground, the city was stone and rather barren. Maybe a l
ittle bit of the wild and natural isn’t such a bad idea.

  We had lunch at an actual restaurant, The Golden Cockerel—a place for eating, not an inn or a tavern that also provided meals. We didn’t have those nine years ago. It was also quite good.

  I never tried kathtali fruit before. It’s similar to an orange in texture, but the flavor—too strong for my preference, but most everything is—reminded me of sweet apples and cinnamon. They served it in small slices, icy cold. Proper technique involved taking a bite, sucking out as much of the juice as possible, then eating the rest of the slice. It’s messy if you do it wrong, but Mary didn’t laugh at me, possibly because the beard was her idea. She did order more, though. Judging by her smile, I think she wanted to see if I would ever get it right. I did.

  I noticed something peculiar. While pivot-doors were in evidence, the majority of doors were wooden things, with hinges. What most people think of as regular doors. Going through one, I paused to examine the hinges. They seemed embedded in the stone of the doorframe. Did the mountain obligingly engulf things people wanted to mount somewhere? Did they drill holes, put in bolts, and the mountain healed over the holes and bolts, together? How helpful is my pet rock to the average citizen? Helpful enough to hang a door, at least.

  While we ate in the restaurant and later, on our walk, I listened to the people around us. Most of their conversations were of no real interest to me. What few references I heard regarding the king seemed positively slanted, though. He’s in the palace, he’s free of the demon, and so on. No singing in the streets, but I didn’t expect any.

  After lunch, it was off to the theater. We saw a play. The language was formal, with almost everything spoken in rhymed couplets or some sort of rapid-fire rhyme scheme. Maybe it’s the fashion of formal theater; I wouldn’t know. The stylized acting reminded me of some Oriental style—kabuki, maybe? Is that what I’m thinking of? The special effects were excellent, though. Somewhere offstage, wizards used illusions to enhance the performance. It was like watching Romeo and Juliet, directed by Izumo no Okuni, with special effects by Industrial Light and Magic.

  Ha. Industrial Light and Actual Magic. I’m amused.