by Garon Whited
“So, what brings you to Karvalen?” I asked.
“You. Again.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There is nothing to be done about a king in his castle, but a monster in his lair is the meat and drink of Heroes. I would have been in the van of the invasion when you visited, several months ago, but I heard of it too late. I am glad the Church of Light failed to get you, since you seem to be yourself again.”
“So am I, and so I am,” I agreed. “I almost hate to tell you this, but the monster you’re after isn’t here.”
“I suspected as much. I spent some time investigating before I came up here.”
“Good man. Smart.”
“Stupid heroes do not live long.”
“Isn’t being a Hero all about being stupid?”
“Foolish, perhaps,” he admitted, smiling. “It is the greatest strength of a Hero to be relentless in the gathering of information. One does not challenge a magician without considerable planning, nor does one brace a y’yvik in its lair without knowing its color. In like fashion, I wanted to know if I was facing the Demon King or Halar. It seems I was correct in my estimation.”
“I agree.”
“And, of course, your observation of protocol was the final confirmation.”
“If it helps, you did a perfect job on the whole heroic challenge thing. It was a classic example.”
“I thought you would appreciate it,” he told me. Laisa put food on the table while we spoke. “You said the monster I am after is not here. I accept your statement, for it matches well with what I know. Perhaps you could explain?”
So I did, in between bites of breakfast. I wonder if it’s more comforting to know I’m eating something that isn’t the observer—“Yay! He’s not eating me!”—or if it’s more disturbing to watch me eat—“Oh, god, look at him take bites out of things!” Sir Sedrick didn’t seem disturbed by my ability to bite chunks out of anything edible, but he’s a professional Hero.
He agreed he heard the rumors about the possession and the exorcism, of course. Nevertheless, when my presence became known this time, he rode hell-for-leather to get here and see for himself.
“So where does that leave us?” I asked. “I mean, you came all this way—again—and found your monster isn’t really a monster—again.”
“Oh, you are a monster,” he argued, “but not the monster I expected.”
“Do you mean we need to fight?”
“I think not. Not yet, at any rate. As far as I can tell, you are the monster who belongs in Karvalen—the one the people have always thought of as their monster. If I killed you, I would have to sneak away or the mob would rip me limb from limb.”
“I’m surprised,” I admitted. “I didn’t think they cared.”
“Oh, they have little enough love for the deeds of the Demon King, but those were all done to Rethven, not here. No one here has seen it—or only a few. It is not as though most people travel so much. Heroes, merchants, traveling wizards, missionary priests, diplomats… not much else. If it is not in Karvalen or Mochara, it’s probably not worth the trouble.” He grinned at me. “Those canals are brilliant, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it. Most people never see more than the city they were born to. Most of the rest don’t see more than two or three. Around here, a man can see Vathula, Plains-Port, Karvalen, and Mochara without much fuss or bother.”
“I originally thought of canals as trade routes, but I suppose ease of trade does mean ease of travel, too. I wonder if I need to put a tunnel through the Eastrange for a canal there, too.”
“I’m not sure anyone here cares what happens on the other side of the mountains.”
“Hmm. That could be a problem.”
“If you say so. May I remain here for a time? I should like to see the place again. It has been some time.”
“Of course! Or, more formally, be welcome in my house,” I told him. “You may remain as my guest for as long as you wish. I’ll expect proper behavior, however, as a guest.”
“No beheading you in the bath?” he asked, chuckling.
“That sort of thing, yes,” I agreed, grinning back at him. “Even if you do decide to skewer me, I expect you to do it when there are no children around—and there is one presently at large in the place. The safety and well-being of any kids in the house is paramount. Please calculate your attacks, surprise or otherwise, with this in mind.”
“That’s either completely in character for you, or a clever ploy by a dark and terrible thing,” he mused. “I think I’ll take it as a further confirmation of what I already feel to be true.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. “Now, tell me about yourself. What’s been going on these last nine years?”
“I took your initial suggestion of touring the region around Byrne and offering my cautions to the people. They did not, at first, heed them. As the armies of Byrne suffered and the armies of Carrillon grew, both in size and proximity, the people grew fearful. Since someone burned most of the palace in Byrne to the ground…” he trailed off, smiling. I chuckled.
“Yes, I’m sure that helped. But the armies of Carrillon?”
“Shortly after the damage to the palace in Byrne—a matter of a few weeks—armies were marching on Byrne, itself. I do not know if my own small efforts encouraged people to surrender, but I hope so. The consequences of defying you and your forces were too terrible to contemplate.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he countered, quickly. “Purge all sorrow and guilt. You did none of it.”
“Oh? I know I didn’t, but—”
“But me no buts,” he insisted. “I spent more than a year investigating you. I consulted wizards, magicians, even the witches of Karvalen—and that was worthy of a song or two all by itself. They don’t like strangers, especially ones asking about you.”
“Don’t you mean the witches of Kamshasa?”
“No, the witches here, in Karvalen.”
“We’ll come back to those. Go on.”
“While none could tell me anything for certain, over time I came to understand you were not yourself. Eventually, I concluded you were, in fact, possessed by some dark spirit. For the years since then, I have seen nothing to contradict this idea until recently. Until you came here, a place you had avoided. Then I came hither at speed and with some small hope. And my hope has been rewarded.”
“Remind me to reward you more materially.”
“I shall bear that thought in mind, Your Majesty.”
“But you mentioned witches in Karvalen. What witches?”
“The Witches of Kamshasa are dangerous and treacherous creatures,” he told me. “Most witches are, or they would not be called witches.” Technically, the word was a compound word: Ven’fiesha. Ven, or blood, and fiesha, or power. Why, I’m not entirely sure. I think it’s because witches run in families—one is born with the talent to be a witch, rather than trained to be a wizard.
Hmm. I never thought about it before, but it also explains the Rethven for fire-witch. Ven’strina, or blood of fire.
“The witches in Karvalen,” he continued, “are of the gata who make their home here.” He shrugged. “They do not like to talk of you, thinking it improper, somehow. It was expensive to gain what little trust I have.”
“I’ll happily recompense you, or even introduce you to them on a more friendly level.”
“I’d not say no,” he admitted. “They are unparalleled as traders with the plains people; their wagons roll everywhere in the great, grass sea. The people of the plains always welcome them and their wares. It is said they are shrewd traders and drive hard bargains, but they are also scrupulously fair. They never lie or mislead a plainsman about their wares, out of respect for the law you gave.”
“I have to admit, I’m glad I did something right.”
“On the other hand, they’ll cheat anyone else for the fun of it,�
� he added, “and often do. Still, I like them. They are their own people. They can be kind, but they can be cold. They will be generous—when it suits them. And they will hold to a bargain even if it means ruin. They are complex, intricate—I admit I do not understand them.”
“Neither do I, but they seem to like me. I can’t ask for anything better.”
“Indeed. Still, I’ve wandered from your question.”
“I had a question?”
“About my adventures for the past few years?”
“Ooo, yes! Do tell!”
“Well, after determining there was nothing within Rethven that required my powers—at least, nothing within my scope—I turned my attention to the north and the viksagi. They, too, are a complex people, but the blue-white giants they fear are much simpler. The key to facing one of those is to get in close. They favor great, tree-sized clubs and will smash you if they can swing on you. Get past the arc of their swing and they are awkward in close quarters…”
We talked for quite some time, mostly me listening while he talked. He told his stories well. I especially liked the way he always found out everything he could before committing himself. I respect that. It was also probably the reason why he was still alive. Heroing is not an occupation with a lengthy life expectancy.
For reference, never let a northern frost giant stand off at a distance and throw things at you. They’re surprisingly accurate and they throw big things—rocks, trees, slabs of ice, those sorts of things. Messy.
As the morning wore on, I recognized time was slipping away. Since I had things yet to do, I introduced him to everyone but Caris—I had no idea where she was—and excused myself to make more calls.
I dialed the mirror in the capitol I’d tried before, while I was in Zirafel. Another young lady to answered it. Same ribbon, same badge, same wraparound braid hairstyle, different girl. She didn’t scream like the other one, but she went rigid and her face went white.
“Good morning!” I sang, as cheerily as I could. “I see you recognize me. Please calm down; you’re not in trouble and no one is going to be upset with you. Okay?”
She nodded without speaking. She trembled.
“Would you be so kind as to tell me where your mirror is? Is it in Karvalen?”
She nodded.
“All right. I’m going to have to ask you to actually use your voice for this one. Where in Karvalen is it?”
“The Palace,” she squeaked.
“Which palace? The one in the mountain?”
“Carrillon.”
“Oh, that’s excellent!” I exclaimed, and meant it. When she agreed her mirror was in Karvalen, I thought she meant the city, not the kingdom. “Is the Queen in?”
She nodded.
“Good, good. Now, take a message—you have something to write with?”
She nodded. I was starting to wonder if there was bobble-headed doll in her ancestry.
“Please let the Queen know I’m feeling much better now. Tort and T’yl have fixed the problem. I’m looking for them, however, and can’t seem to find them. Also, I’d like the opportunity to meet and apologize to her at her convenience. Got that?”
She nodded. I restrained a sigh. Being a terrifying figure of legend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
“Thank you for your help. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Her neck did work side-to-side, not only up-and-down.
“All right. You can call me back on this mirror. You can do that, right?”
Up and down again.
“Wonderful. Good day.”
I closed the connection and sat there, thinking for several minutes about who to call next. There weren’t too many choices. But did I really want to call Thomen? It could work out. If he still cared about Tort, he could be a powerful ally. He might even be willing to put his hatred on hold until we could establish Tort’s safety.
While I sat there, thinking about it, the mirror rippled and cleared, revealing Tianna.
“Tianna! I’m so glad to see you.” I noticed her expression. “You look worried.”
“I am. You know about the Church of Light?”
“I’m aware of it, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, not at all.” She gripped her temples with one long-fingered hand, a gesture either copied or inherited from me. It was odd to see. “Granddad, the Church of Light has been in the Fortress of the East for… well, it’s been everywhere, but it’s been especially present for the last nine years or so. When your other self relocated to Carrillon, the Church of Light presence started to grow here. Elsewhere, too, I think, except in Carrillon. Having a Demon King on the throne helped their recruitment in other cities.”
“I guess it would.”
“I think they meant to build up their strength before attempting to unseat the Demon King.”
“Reasonable, I suppose. And now?”
“Now, they’ve got fifty or so of the especially devout marching up the Kingsway, chanting and singing and waving sun-face medallions. I think they’re coming for you.”
“No doubt, but why? I haven’t done anything to them. Or are they trying to be preemptive? You know, before I go on some sort of rampage.”
“I’m not sure. I don’t… um. We both have sun-god connections, although not the same one. We, uh, really don’t get along too well.”
“I can imagine the theological implications. Conflict of interest sort of thing. I’ve wondered why I get along so well with the Grey Lady, myself.”
“Oh, that,” she scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “The Grey Lady determines the time of a person’s death. She escorts people to the underworld by the Long Road, then walks with them through the dark and into rebirth. She handles everybody. You don’t determine the end of their road—that’s Her job. You also get single, specific people.”
“She runs Club Destiny and I’m the doorman.”
“Beg pardon?”
“She’s omnipresent. She snips their Ribbon and they follow her on the Long Walk. I’m more of an express route, but you have to make an appointment in advance and leave a little early.”
“That’s… strangely, I think that’s not a bad description. As long as you’re incarnate, you’re limited to those you can see and touch. You can’t handle everyone in a kingdom.”
“I have a tough time with cities, too,” I admitted, thinking of Zirafel.
“I imagine. You also handle tough cases.”
“Tough cases?”
“Ghosts who refuse to leave. Spirits that remain, rather than continuing their journey. Not all who die are willing to go with Her. She forces no one—it is not Her way. You, on the other hand…”
“So, not only the doorman, but security, too.”
“She also likes you. I don’t know why.”
“How do you know all this?”
“My grandmother was a priestess of the Grey Lady for a long time. Plus, I sometimes see the Grey Lady when one of my patients is dying. We talk.”
Is it a family trait, this conversational familiarity with the local deities? Or quasi-divine thing? Or just mystical? After all, I’m semi-undead, she’s a fire-witch.
“Fair enough. So, I’ve got few dozen Bright Boys walking up the Kingsway. Good to know. Thank you for warning me.”
“You might want to hurry; I had to run back to the Temple to get to my mirror. I’m not sure how far along they are.”
“I’ll take care of it right now,” I promised. She blew me a kiss and closed the connection.
Sure enough, looking down the Kingsway I could see a line of people working their way up. They were, indeed, chanting as they shuffled along, waving shiny medallions. If it had been nighttime, I would doubtless have been blinded by the radiance of their illuminated faith. As it was, they resembled a bunch of poorly-dressed street performers with a religious theme. Did the whole Church have a vow of poverty? Or was it a case of minimal personal needs while ministering to everyone else? Charity is a virtue, I’m told.
>
What were they trying to accomplish? This was stupid. Unless they had a secret weapon, I could stand at the head of the ramp and hold it until they ran out of people. Besides, it was daytime. Waving a holy amulet of light in my direction was about as dangerous as waving their mothers’ jewelry at me. To be fair, they might not know that. Approaching me during the day, in bright sunshine, at the height of their deity’s influence… there’s a case to be made for it.
Below, along the side-streets of the Kingsway, crowds watched their progress. Maybe it was a publicity thing? Look at us, we’re the church to challenge even the Demon King? That could have something to do with it, as well.
What were my options? Several. First, kill them all. Not always a good option, but it was on the table. Not that I particularly wanted to, but I’m dealing with religious fanatics who want my head burned to ashes and my heart with it. There were any number of ways to accomplish their collective demise. The most basic was to walk down to meet them and wave a sword around. The Kingsway is a one hell of a choke point and none of them were armed.
Second, block them. I could ask the mountain to do a variety of things—round off the road surface so it was like walking on top of a pipe, and make it slick as glass. Open a gap, or several, in the bridgeway to stop them. I suppose we could run a water line down the inside of the Kingsway. If the sides curved up a bit and water poured down the middle, we could have everybody going back to the market square on a giant water-slide. That could be fun to watch! Or, more traditionally, get a big, stone sphere ready for next time. Again, with curved-up edges on the road, just roll it down the middle. All of those options would take time, however.
Third, ignore them. I could close the door to the great hall and let them wander around as much as they liked. I didn’t see any pickaxes or shovels. Eventually, they would get hungry and thirsty and have to go home. I’ve got a terrace-balcony-thing attached to my chambers. I could unseal the door and address them from there to find out what they wanted, provided they didn’t form a human pyramid to climb up to it—climbing down was problematic with the rocky overhang above the balcony.
Maybe a blocking action…
