Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  Fortunately, I wasn’t dealing with interuniversal gates. They were only point-to-point gates, and, with all the miscellaneous surfaces and objects aboard a ship, probably not brute-force gates, either. The top of a wooden keg, for example, typically has a bit of a rim around it. That would serve perfectly well as the target point, as well as providing a sizable opening through which to pump something destructive. Picking out one belowdecks would also allow the fire a decent chance to catch before anyone started throwing water on it.

  As I was considering what to use—gasoline, kerosene, cooking grease, whatever—Beltar pushed open the pivot-door and stepped inside, standing silent and waiting respectfully to be noticed.

  “Stop that,” I told him. “Shut the door and have a seat. You are not permitted to be deferential.”

  Beltar pushed the pivot-door closed and sat. He made a point of slouching in his chair and crossing his ankles to demonstrate how relaxed and informal he was.

  “Nice,” I agreed. “So, what’s this I hear about Her Majesty not accepting the Knights of Shadow in her army?”

  Beltar sat up sharply. I didn’t think I used That Voice. Checking my memory quickly, I realized I spoke normally. I decided it was a touchy subject, rather than the way I asked.

  “My lord, the Queen has not refused. She has simply not replied.”

  “Hmm. It’s not a refusal, just a failure to acknowledge you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure that’s better. It seems rude. To me, anyway. You were born and raised here. What do you think?”

  “I think it is a more polite response than a direct refusal.”

  “Okay. Explain why, please. Her lack of answer would offend me, but I’m not clear on the social niceties.”

  “May I ask why you would find it offensive, my lord?”

  “Sure. Ask me anything, Beltar. You’re the deveas of the Church of Shadow. You’re also my friend, and I respect you.”

  “I thank you, my lord.”

  “The reason I would think it rude is this. If I were to make such and offer, personally, I’m asking her a question. I’m making an offer, a generous one, a gesture of friendliness and helpfulness. She’s refusing to even acknowledge I made the attempt. She’s choosing to turn her back on me completely, ignore me, pretend I’m so inconsequential as to be unworthy of any response. See what I mean?”

  “I do, my lord,” Beltar agreed, nodding. “I can see it, if I try. It is not a mode of thought to come naturally to me.”

  “Oh? How do you see it?”

  “Speaking as you have spoken, I say this. I offer the Queen a noble gesture. A friendly one, a helpful one. For whatever reasons, she chooses not to have the Knights of Shadow by her side during this conflict. Even so, she dares not offend a power such as yourself. If she sends a refusal, however carefully worded, it is like… like…” He paused for thought.

  “You send a woman a gift,” he said, finally. “She sends it back with a note of polite thanks, but refuses your gift. Does this offend you?”

  “Hmm. I buy the flowers and chocolate, she sends them back. Yeah, I kind of see that.”

  “It is a poor example,” Beltar added. “She has not sent back a gift, for we have not assembled for war and presented ourselves to her. We have asked if she would accept a gift, and she has not replied.”

  “It’s a matter of perspective,” I decided. “I guess I can see how you mean it. She doesn’t want to upset us, so she pretends she didn’t hear. We can then either insist—and risk forcing her to answer—or we can take it as the gentlest of refusals and not press the issue.”

  “So I see it, my lord. It is a thing of diplomacy and tact.”

  “I defer to your superior expertise. What do the knights think of this?”

  “They are incensed. I have seldom seen such ardor in their practice, nor have I felt such a deep disquiet in their spirit. Their Queen goes to war—a war against the Lord of Light, a holy crusade—and they are not invited. It hurts them, my lord.”

  “How many of them are planning to join the army and simply not tell her?” I asked. Beltar appeared startled, then guilty.

  “I do not know.”

  “But you know some of them are planning it? Or have already set out?”

  “My lord is wise.”

  “Recall them.”

  “My lord? Must I?”

  “Recall them,” I insisted, “and spread the word—quietly—how anyone who doesn’t stay near a Temple of Shadow will miss out on my part of the war.”

  Beltar’s eyes widened. His mouth split into a smile that threatened to give him a flip-top head.

  “I will see to it immediately, my lord.”

  A whisper in the back of my head added, And I’ll help him with that.

  When Beltar left, I went back to laying out my plans. The disabling of the defenses of the Strait of Fang Rocks was the primary thing. I spent some time on it, sorting out exactly where I wanted to land on each of the fortifications, where I wanted to attack, what I wanted to set on fire, and so forth.

  I wanted to talk to Stomald, too. During the course of my planning, I wondered about the rituals involved for the ceremony of bliss. It occurred to me that it might not only be good for making addicted mobs of desperate junkies. It might be something the Boojum of Light could weaponize. Imagine two armies charging across a field toward each other, and one of them suddenly has half their number collapse to their knees in religious—or near-religious—ecstasy.

  Counterintuitive, I know, but anything disrupting the cohesion of an army is a weapon, no matter how it affects the individuals. Besides, it might be a good way for the Boojum to gain converts. It could explain a lot about the sudden spread of the religion, as well as its grip on the conquered territories.

  I didn’t get a chance to talk to Stomald, but I put it on my calendar. Mary called to report on the meeting with the Reynolds family. I put the phone on speaker, set it on the edge of my scrying table, and put my feet up next to it.

  “So, how did the meeting go?”

  “They are arrogant, bordering on rude, and think they have a lock on how magic works,” she fumed. “I don’t mind being treated like a hired gun, but the talking-down-to was hard to take. ‘Oh, you just do your job and try not to panic at the strange things you’ll see.’ ‘You won’t believe your eyes.’ ‘Forget everything you know, because the world is stranger than you think.’ Do you have any idea how hard it was to play the wide-eyed innocent with these people?”

  “No, but I’m sure you did a fantastic job of it.”

  “Well… yes. I did. I’m awesome like that.”

  “And in other ways,” I agreed. “So, how does it look?”

  “They’re convinced I’m a professional thief. They wanted me to prove it, so I picked half the locks in their house and opened the safe in the basement. They were suitably impressed after that. They may not view me as a monster-hunting equal, but at least I’m an expert in my field.”

  “And the job?”

  “They’re looking forward to it. They don’t completely believe you when you say you want to look over a bloodsucker, but they also can’t afford to pass up this opportunity. The general consensus is you’re not telling them everything—you have a hidden agenda. I am also concerned,” she added, “about their mention of reinforcements.”

  “Probably another cell of the Lorenzo Monster-Hunting Society.”

  “Likely so, but I’m wondering how many people are going to be involved in the snatch-and-grab, then involved in the dissection and interrogation.”

  “Shouldn’t matter. We get what we want, they get what they want, and as a free bonus, they get whatever we leave behind. I think a hidden base down a mine shaft is a pretty decent bonus, thank you.”

  “So do I. Just be prepared for treachery and backstabbing.”

  “I’m wearing my armor.”

  “I know you are, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. I’ll be careful
.”

  “Another thing, possibly a minor item. The Reynolds’ house is full of boxes, blankets, and newspaper. It looks to me like they’re packing for a move.”

  “I’m not surprised. How many vampires know where they live?”

  “Two.”

  “Yes, but they can’t assume it’s only two. Who did I tell? Even if they assume I don’t mean them any harm—which they won’t—there’s an unknown individual who’s extremely accurate with a gun, somewhere, and they don’t know that person didn’t mention it to the Master of Las Vegas or the Lord of Los Angeles or the Director of Phlebotomy for San Francisco.”

  “So, time to pack up and relocate?”

  “I would. I would not be surprised, however, if they’re getting more than one new residence, dividing up the family to minimize the destruction if things go wrong. When they were a family of quiet hedge-wizards, analyzing whatever was brought to them, it wasn’t too bad. Now they’re in the middle of personal dealings with the dark things that roam their world. Their family isn’t safe in suburbia anymore. They probably think the whole neighborhood is in danger because of them.”

  “Good point.”

  “And kind of my fault.”

  “Don’t start,” she insisted.

  “Okay. I’m still going to give them a financial present to ease the pains of relocating.”

  “Softie.”

  “Tell that to Johann.”

  “He had way more coming to him than what you did!”

  “Kind of my point. I gave him what I could, not what he deserved. Still think I’m a softie?”

  “Hmm. No. But you are unreasonably nice, sometimes.”

  “It helps make up for being an inhuman monster. By the way, you’re a woman.”

  Mary was silent for several seconds.

  “Why is it I panic when you hand me such a non sequitur?”

  “Sorry. I mean, do you mind if I ask you for a woman’s perspective?”

  “Tianna or Lissette?” Mary guessed.

  “Lissette.”

  “Good, because I don’t feel comfortable discussing the fire-witch priestess granddaughter.”

  “And you do feel comfortable discussing my wife?”

  “Your mortal wife? The human who doesn’t have a fire-goddess looking out through her eyes? Absolutely. I can take Lissette.”

  “I’m not going to ask how you mean that.”

  “Probably for the best,” she agreed. “What’s the trouble?”

  So I explained what little I knew about Lissette’s coolness toward me, her lack of enthusiasm for my help, the gentle refusal to have the Knights of Shadow along in the war, and so on. Mary took it all in silence. When I finally ran down, she made a thoughtful noise.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “I’m just wondering if you’ve had this much of a talk with Lissette.”

  “Well, no. She doesn’t want to talk.”

  “Oh, yes she does.”

  “No, I’m sure she doesn’t.”

  “Trust me. You know everything there is to know about wormholes, gates, and the science behind magical theory. I know this. She wants to talk about the two of you, the rulership of the realm, the war, the kids, all of it.”

  “Then why doesn’t she?”

  “Because you’re a doofus.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Look, I understand you, sort of. I’ve seen you happy, hurt, sad, broken, angry, and pretty much everything else. She doesn’t and hasn’t. From what I’ve gathered, you were the decent bloke who married her and got her out from under her father’s thumb. You were nice to her—gallant, even chivalrous, possibly next door to noble—before the Demon King took over. She’s not confused on who you are and who he was. She understands what happened and has had years to come to grips with it. Emotionally, though, she’s got some baggage. She wants you to be the first guy, the gallant-bordering-on-noble guy. Thing is, she looks at you and she sees the Demon King. Some part of her brain panics at the sight of you, no matter what she knows.”

  “I know all that.”

  “You don’t act like it.”

  “How do I not act like it? I’m trying to be helpful while keeping my terrifying visage out of her sight!”

  “Dear Lord, forgive him, for he is stupid,” Mary sighed. “Listen. Please.”

  “I am listening.”

  “No, you’re hearing, which is different. You can hear a ghost sliding through a wall, but you have to listen to understand what I’m saying.”

  “All right. I’ll try.”

  “Lissette wants to have you close at hand, helping her. She’s afraid you’ll be the Demon King.”

  “That’s why I—”

  “Don’t make me sic Seldar on you.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I agreed, and shut up. I could hear the frustration in Mary’s voice. She sighed in an exasperated fashion and muttered something about a “Y” chromosome.

  “All right, try it this way,” she said, finally. “Forget about being a target for rogue magicians who want to be immortal. You’re a king, so random assassins are par for the course. Lump them all together and put them aside. Okay?”

  “For the sake of the discussion, sure.”

  “Now, aside from your burning desire to not screw up a kingdom, is there any reason you won’t spend your time in Carrillon?”

  I thought about it. I could see where she was going. Ignore those few magicians who wanted to be nightlords. Ignore political assassins. Ignore religious assassins. Ignore the reputation of the Demon King. Basically, forget anything pertaining to someone else’s opinion. Focus on Lissette, independent of the world around us.

  “I could hang around the palace, I suppose, yes.”

  “So, you could be in Carrillon, working in your brand-new laboratory—so new it hasn’t even been built, yet—and coming out to have mortal meals with your wife and kids, on call if your honeybunch has a honey-do list, and available to hand down some wrath of Dad if the smartass kids get out of line. Yes?”

  “Well, yes. I’m not sure—”

  “And,” she cut me off, “if you’re about to say something along the lines of, ‘Well, yes, but I’m not sure that’s fair, since people actually are trying to kill me,’ bear in mind you visit the Palace of Karvalen, the Temple of Flame, and the Temple of Shadow on an unpredictable but definite basis. How heavily fortified and guarded is the Palace of Carrillon? As I recall, you had a hard time—you!—just delivering a message there, much less popping in for a visit. Am I wrong?”

  I didn’t answer. She wasn’t wrong. The place has had years upon years of magical fortifications built up around it. It has spells and enchantments from the days of the Kings of Rethven, long predating my arrival.

  “And another thing,” she added. “Which is more important to you? The risk to your life, or the happiness and harmony of the Queen and King of Karvalen? No, bad question. Which is more important to you? The kingdom—its policies, rulership, religions, and wars—or the Queen—which is to say, Lissette, your wife? Would you rather be a king or a husband? That’s what Lissette has problems with, you moron.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Obviously. Right now, you’re an absentee everything. You’re quasi-mythical figure with a clear preference for avoiding her, the kids, and everything to do with ruling. You scare her. Hell, you scare me and I’m fearless. What she wants is to have a better idea of who you are, what you are, and to understand how you two relate. It doesn’t help that you show up, look around, nod and smile, and go away again. It feels like you’re passing judgment, like you’re grading her on her assignment of running a kingdom.”

  “It does?”

  “It’s how I would feel.”

  “Oh. Hang on a minute. Doesn’t it bother you to be giving me marriage counseling?”

  “Nope. She’s mortal and I’m patient. I also have some pretty deep assurances. I know where I stand with you—firmly on your left and a pace behind,
so your sword-hand is unobstructed and I have a clear shot past your shield. Besides, Bronze, Firebrand, and Diogenes all like me. You’d have a hard time getting rid of me with a flamethrower.”

  “Good point. Okay, so, what do you recommend, Doctor Ruth?”

  “You could try taking up residence in the Palace of Carrillon and—this is important—making yourself available to her. She invites you to breakfast, you go. She invites you to dinner, you go. She asks you a personal question about those pesky feelings, you answer instead of deflecting.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “It’ll build character.”

  “Hand me some dice and a sheet of paper. That’s how you build a character.”

  “Aaaaaaand he deflects,” she pointed out. “You have to learn to control that.”

  She does have a point, Boss.

  You shut up. I’ve got enough to deal with in this phone call!

  “All right,” I said, aloud. “Maybe after the war.”

  “After?”

  “The war is going to be a busy time for everyone. If I’m going to learn to be a… a… a husband, I’d rather do it when things are calmer.”

  “Would this have anything to do with the fact a war can get people killed—including you—and you might not have to worry about it?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mary made a rude, exasperated noise. Excellent fidelity, these Diogephones.

  “Fine. Be that way. But don’t come crying to me when you’re attending a state funeral and wishing you’d done more while she was alive.” And with that, Mary disconnected the call. I folded the phone and put it away in a thoughtful frame of mind.

  Flintridge, Monday, October 13th, 1969

  I’ll say this for vampire hunters. They don’t dawdle.

  Ted and his sons followed the directions to the old lead mine and I met them there. They parked the car, got out, and I dismounted.

  Ted and Bronze exchanged looks. She snorted a wisp of fire and smoke drifted up from her ears. The younger men stepped back, but Ted held his ground. Bronze dipped her head and nosed him in the chest, encouraging him to scratch her forehead. He did so, gingerly.