Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  “They’ll learn,” Thomen assured her. “I have a plan. We only need have them visit periodically. Send for another one, a troublesome one, and I shall speak to him, as well. He will come around to our way of thinking.”

  “Are you sure? Sometimes… sometimes I think… I think we shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “There, there, there. It will be fine. You’re tired. I’ll give you a little sleep spell and everything will be all right in the morning. I’ll take care of all our problems.”

  “Well… I’m not sure. We should talk about this. It’s a matter… a matter of policy. It seems odd… to let you… make… all… the…”

  “It’s all right. Perfectly all right. You settle back, now. I’ll make it all those doubts and fears go away.”

  A thick silence followed.

  Well? I asked Firebrand.

  He’s doing the wizard thing, Boss. She’s sleeping.

  She’s already asleep?

  Yep.

  Then what is he doing?

  Some sort of spell.

  Any idea what sort?

  It started as a sleep spell, I think, but he’s still going. I don’t know what it is. It’s not a fire spell.

  This concerns and annoys me greatly. From the sound of it, I’m guessing he’s using some sort of magical convincer to make her think his ideas are her ideas.

  I’d love to tell you, Boss, but if it’s not fire magic…

  Fair enough, I suppose.

  Can I come back, now?

  No. Stay there and stay quiet. I want your opinion on her state of mind when she wakes up. You were listening to her intently when she went to sleep?

  Sure, Boss.

  Then try to figure out if she’s under some sort of compulsion or confusion or something. Maybe I’m just oversensitive on her behalf—you know I don’t like having my mind tampered with—but I’d like to be sure Thomen’s being helpful.

  As opposed to…?

  A traitor with his eye on a puppet Queen, or angling for the throne by manipulating her mind.

  If you say so, Boss. I’ll look into it.

  Thanks.

  I sat up on the bed. The twins were still standing by the outer door.

  “Is it allowed for me to call back to the Fortress of the East? I should check in and let people know I arrived.”

  “We are to remain here with you.”

  “Nothing was said about leaving.”

  “We’d be glad to escort you to the mirror room.”

  “But it would violate our orders.”

  “Would you like us to send a message?”

  “Thomen ordered wizards to assist us.”

  “There should be one waiting outside.”

  I shook my head.

  “No, but thank you. I’m guessing I can’t call out through the palace protections?”

  They shook their heads in unison. All the things I’ve seen. All the things I’ve done. That’s what weirds me out. Go figure.

  “Fair enough. Can you send for writing materials?” I asked. They pointed at a table. It didn’t have anything on it, but the top was hinged. I lifted it and saw a nicely-arranged space underneath, neatly divided into lots of little compartments. I got out paper and a quill.

  I cheat whenever possible. A spell to contain a reservoir of ink inside a quill isn’t hard. It also saves the trouble with dipping and blotting and suchlike. It’s not a ballpoint, but it works.

  I wrote Lissette a letter, explaining in writing how I wanted her to rule and reign and run the realm while I stayed out of it. I also suggested she might want to name a Royal Consort, what with my own frequent unavailability. I considered a separate note to Thomen about pursuing the idea of becoming a Royal Consort to the Queen, but decided against it. If he was playing the part of the Evil Grand Vizier, I didn’t want to legitimize him. If he was honestly trying to help Lissette, I could always legitimize or pardon him if it came down to it.

  Then I drafted a Royal Decree, rewrote it, rewrote it again, and finally got it right on the fourth edit. Inheritance in the Royal House shall follow through the female line of descent. A daughter can inherit, so girls shall be listed in the line of succession along with any male children, all in the order of their birth. A first-born son can inherit and rule, but the children of his wife shall be considered first in line after him.

  I signed everything, handed them to Malana or Malena, and went to lie down on the bed. One of the twins opened the door, handed the letters off to someone outside, and went back to standing guard.

  I spent most of the rest of my incarceration in my headspace, working on spell designs. If I was trapped without anything to do—and it would be rude to start actual spellcasting in my oh-so-comfortable cell—I could at least do things I’d been putting off. I’ve needed a spell to dial down various senses, especially my sense of taste. I’ve been meaning to work on an inertia-damping spell so I can not only move at the speed of dark, but corner, too, without playing pinball off someone as a bumper. Then there’s the need for refinements on the power circle, Bronze’s anklet enchantment—both for improved sound damping and a traction-enhancing function—as well as a variety of other things that haven’t had priority.

  Nobody bothered me for quite some time. I think I made progress. Maybe not on my master plan to find Tort, find T’yl, set the kingdom to rights, and destroy the Orb of Evil, but at least I made progress on something. I don’t do well with sitting quietly and doing nothing.

  Maybe I should practice meditation more. Okay, maybe I should start.

  Wednesday, February 4th

  Along about dawn, I stepped into the bathroom and came alive. It’s slightly more extreme than most people, even without coffee. Instead, I suffered through the transformation, ran a cleaning spell, and then took a bath. I felt much better.

  Wouldn’t you know it, the minute I settled into the tub, everything went to pieces.

  My butt hit the bottom of the tub and I leaned back. A resounding magical thud shivered in the air. I froze for an instant, wondering what I’d done, then realized it wasn’t anything in the room. A quick sensory pulse seemed in order. A minor working only, to see if something nasty was in the other room. I stood up while performing it.

  The wards and barriers around my chambers/holding cell were down. That explained why I could feel something happening on a magical level. It also meant I could see the main magical defenses of the palace were down. That impressed me. Either someone wanted magical entry to the Palace in the worst possible way, or they temporarily lowered the Palace shields for some internal reason.

  Was this my problem? Possibly. It depended on who was doing what and why. It could be a prelude to an attack. I know not everything is about me, but since I’m always present when people and Things attack me, it often seems as though it is. It’s a perspective thing.

  I heard shouting out in the main room. I whisked myself dry with a gesture and reached for my pants.

  A ghostly figure float-walked through the bathroom door.

  She was about twenty, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and a misty, vaporous nightgown drifting around her as though underwater. Around her neck was a glowing band of light, like a collar, and another one across her brow, like a headband. I remembered something like it from Zirafel. Binding spells—a geas—usually had a manifestation of some sort on spirits and similar entities. This spirit, whoever it was, likely had a specific mission to perform before it could be released to seek its afterlife. With two such bands, it might have two duties to perform.

  I also saw, half-hidden in the slowly-shifting tissue of ghost-cloth, a silvery cord stretching about three feet from her. The cord seemed to stretch away into the distance, as though the three feet or so was actually an optical illusion of perspective.

  Extradimensional. Astral projection. Interplanar travel. That sort of thing is hard on the eyes. At least I was pretty sure she wasn’t native to Rethven; they don’t go in for sexy nightgowns. They usually have things
more like pajamas, loose-fitting and comfortable, when they wear anything at all. Another astral entity from Mary’s native world, sent by a house of magi? That seemed most likely.

  The collar and headband interested me, though. The last spirit I saw only had the headband. The two geas spells seemed very different from each other in construction, though.

  The spirit and I looked at each other for all of two seconds. She didn’t seem surprised, or excited, or even interested. She might be the astral form of a living person, but one or both of the geas were blocking most of her free will. I eyeballed them on a magical basis. Something about the headband seemed off. The spirit might be from another universe, and the headband’s general structure seemed to corroborate the idea. The spell structure of the collar seemed to follow the local rules for spell design, however. Did someone catch a wandering astral entity and bind it? If the collar was overriding the headband, it might account for the vacant look on the spirit’s face. The two geas spells might be fighting for control within her mind.

  The door came violently open, slamming right through her without effect. Malana… Malena? One of the twins came in right behind it, already moving at a dead run. The other one recovered from kicking the door open for her sister.

  The lead twin cut perfectly through the ghost, shoulder to opposite hip, in a stroke that would have killed a man in armor or cut down a telephone pole. Her sword gave off a strange, singing note as it sliced air. The astral projection didn’t seem to mind; I think she only barely noticed. Then the twin—I’ll assume it was Malana; they’re fungible—her momentum carried her through the spirit and straight toward me.

  I really should get a pair of swim trunks and never take them off.

  She didn’t skewer me, so that was to the good. She didn’t bounce off, either. She slowed down but was unable to stop, ran into me, and I caught her, stepping back as I did so to cushion the impact. Our eyes met for a moment; I wasn’t sure what to make of her expression. At least she wasn’t horrified. Surprised, yes, and something else. Probably embarrassed.

  Then Malena’s sword made the same ringing, singing sound as it whispered through the apparition. Malana turned away to face the spirit, advanced on it. It regarded her with a vaguely puzzled expression, peeked over its shoulder at Malena, and paused where it floated. Swordpoints threatened it from both directions. Its instructions obviously didn’t cover this.

  Everybody held their positions for a moment. I went ahead and pulled on my pants. Nobody was trying to kill me at that precise second, so I might as well get dressed.

  The astral entity continued to look puzzled and reached out to touch Malana’s swordpoint. Malana let her, distracting the spirit while Malena performed a sword form I half-recognized. It involved a complex dance of blade through spine and would turn an unarmored human into quadriplegic cutlets. The only sound involved was the singing, metallic sound of her blade cutting air.

  Malena was remarkably fast. Lightning-quick, in fact. I’m not sure human eyes could follow it. Come to that, I’m not sure my daytime self could do it so quickly without some sort of magical cheat. I could learn to, with dedication and practice, but it would be a project.

  The spirit ignored the metal passing through her. She might not have noticed; the swordpoint never came far enough forward to be in her line of sight.

  “She doesn’t seem hostile,” I observed, “and I don’t think you can hurt her, anyway.”

  “Our orders are clear.”

  “She’s an invader.”

  “We cannot stand idly by.”

  “This cannot be permitted.”

  “Maybe,” I suggested, “I could help?” I pulled on a shirt while I spoke.

  “How?” they asked, in unison.

  “Well, she’s obviously intangible. Swords aren’t going to help. Wizardry might.”

  While we spoke, the spirit-girl surveyed the room without moving. Her expression remained mostly vacant with a hint of puzzled.

  “We don’t have a spell for dealing with spirits.”

  “We don’t encounter them all that often.”

  “You’re in luck,” I told them, “because I do.”

  As one, they took a single step back, widening the gap between themselves and the ghostly form. I took it as a cue.

  “Now, if you’re going to attack an astral spirit, you need to spot the silver cord. That’s a connection between the physical form and the spirit that’s gone wandering.” I stepped around Malana as I spoke and the spirit’s eyes tracked in my direction. If I could get a linkage of any sort, we might be able to talk. Then I could find out what she wanted.

  “Material weapons won’t hurt the cord, though,” I added. “You’ll need a specially-enchanted weapon for that. Astral cords are notoriously tough. They’re really cables, woven together of all the strands connecting the soul to the body. They’re intangible, of course, but even on a spiritual level, they’re tough. They have to be. It’s actually easier to snip them, one by one, while the soul is still inside the body. It’s a synergy thing.”

  The spirit held up a hand. I held up a hand to match her. She touched her dainty little hand to mine.

  “He’s comin’ around.”

  I opened one eye. The other didn’t want to, so I let it sleep. I wished I could be asleep all over; my eye seemed to have the right idea. Even with my good eye open, everything was fuzzy and sort of cloudy. My whole right side had a strange sort of painful, tingling numbness.

  “Who did this?” asked a voice. I tried to focus on the speaker, but it didn’t work. That’s a bad sign. It was a big, deep voice. Rumbly.

  “I dunno. Father Sky?” Another big voice, one backed by an abundance of resonant chest space. A talking horse? Or an exceptionally well-spoken ogre?

  “Not underground. –wait. Are you seriously suggesting a god tried to smite him?”

  “You sayin’ none of ’em want to?”

  “Fair point. I think we can assume none of the gods did it.”

  “Why? ’Cause he’s alive?”

  “No, because if one of them did it, we can’t protect him. It’s our responsibility to keep him alive, so we have to assume whatever we’re protecting him from is something we can actually handle.”

  “Huh. Never thought of it like that.”

  I wondered who was talking. Then I started to wonder about the smell. Someone needed to check the oven; whatever it was needed to be taken out, possibly extinguished.

  “Can you keep him alive?” asked a third voice.

  “The Queen wishes it,” it continued, without pausing for breath.

  “If he dies, he will be a soulless monster come sunset.”

  “The existence of any such creature.”

  “Will not be permitted,” it finished.

  Yeah, the twins were still watching me. I’d recognize their delivery anywhere.

  “All we have to do is keep him alive until nightfall. His rings helped. One blunted the attack a little; the other healed him somewhat.”

  “Do we move him?” asked the other male voice.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “I’m thinkin’ we should at least dry the place and make him comfortable.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  There followed some movement around me, but not much conversation. I elected to retreat into my headspace; it hurt less in there.

  Much better. Somewhat distanced from my physical self, I took the opportunity to recall what happened. I touched the spirit’s hand. Right. Then there was a bright flash. Right. Something awful happened all down my right side. Got it.

  All right, let’s take a look. I sat down at my desk and summoned up my physical schematic in the surface. My body appeared in multi-layered form, displayed within the glass. Right off, I could see my right arm and leg were offline. Not dead, exactly, but pretty badly burned and not responding. Secondary damage along the right side of my head, including the eye, which explained why it didn’t open on command. Some other damage,
too, mostly of a convulsive, muscle-tearing nature. Overall, probably some sort of lightning. Either the ghost of Tesla’s daughter paid me a visit, or Saint Eligius expressed his displeasure at Bronze’s lack of shoes. Either way, I was fried, possibly barbequed.

  I’m glad I didn’t touch the astral visitor with my left hand. Frying my left side would have put electricity through my heart, and I need it during the day. What for, I’m not entirely sure, but I’m told it’s important for something.

  It occurred to me if people were trying to keep me alive, I really ought to help. It would be rude to die without thanking them for their efforts. Being stuck inside my own head meant it would be problematic to coordinate with them, though. While I could probably manage some healing spells, I was pretty sure they would do the same. On the other hand, I could exercise conscious control over my body’s response to the damage. Already, shock was setting in; the lights were dimming. I touched the desktop and reprioritized my physical responses. Calm, controlled function, that’s the ticket.

  And a good sunset. I could really use one of those, too. I sincerely hoped there was a bloodbath coming up—one of the non-violent sorts. A full-sized tub of blood to soak in would really be nice. At least, for as long as it lasted.

  Sitting at my desk, I kept track of my vital functions and overrode my autonomic nervous system on occasion.

  At least I managed to keep the lights on.

  Hey, Boss? Firebrand called. I looked up from my desk. In here, it was a voice in the air.

  “Yes?”

  Oh, good; you’re still in there. Listen, people out here are arguing about whether or not to let you die.

  “I thought people were trying to keep me alive?”

  Some of them are. Like I said, there’s an argument.

  “And what, exactly, am I supposed to do about it? I’m electrocuted and lightly carbonized. If I come out of my headspace, I’ll probably pass out.”

  Just keeping you posted, Boss.

  “I vote for keeping me alive, if that’s any help.”

  I figured. Do you have anything you want me to tell them? Aside from, “Hey, he wants to live”?