Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  The Karvalen troops—the professional soldiers, anyway—retreated. They fought, killing anything that came near enough to attack, defending themselves and each other as they gave ground before the advancing waves of bodies. If the whole of the army could have stayed together and done the same, it would have been a costly, bloody battle, but it very well might have ended in victory. The Karvalen troops could have relieved some of the pressure by backing away, killing as they went, leaving a carpet of bodies for the rest of the mob to navigate, slowing the onslaught to something more manageable…

  It didn’t work out that way.

  The levies—the draftees, the recruits—broke and ran. The flood of so many, the sheer mass and pressure of bodies was too much. They broke, the lines crumbled, and the Salacian mob gave chase, killing them as they ran.

  Without the support of the levies, the numbers of the professional soldiers were simply not enough. The mob, unwilling or unable to execute a flanking maneuver, simply charged straight in. When the lines crumbled, some charged past the disciplined troops, like water between rocks. Tight pockets of resistance formed, circles of shields and swords, once it became as dangerous to retreat as to hold ground. But even these were overwhelmed, buried under the waves, the solid masses of hostile flesh and bone.

  The Karvalen forces brought relatively few horses across the sea. They captured more, of course, after they landed. Now those horses carried survivors away from the melee. Some others would survive, I felt sure, being highly motivated to be fleet of foot. Their slower fellows would also delay the leading edge of the attacking wave.

  Over ten thousand men landed on the outer continent. Perhaps a thousand survived the attack on Salacia.

  The enemy dead were even more numerous. Twenty thousand? Thirty? More, once the fighting was over and the wounded had a chance to finish dying. But what did the Church care? Beggars, the unwashed poor, shopkeepers, street sweepers, vendors in market stalls—so what? They were all low-class scum. Who would miss them? Besides, what are worshipers for if not to die for the faith? What are citizens for if not to die for their nation?

  I wanted to find Liam, as well as Torvil and Kammen. You’d think locating a pair of semi-giants on some of the largest organically-grown horses in the world would be easy to spot, but no, they were obviously covered in cloaking spells. They certainly weren’t lying dead on the field of battle. I would have spotted that. No, they would be near Liam to protect him. If I couldn’t scry them, maybe nobody else could, either.

  Do they still carry those personal scrying mirrors? And did they remember to set their cloaking spells to allow for communications? It’s more complicated to allow the equivalent of a coded channel through. Well, one way to find out. I breathed on a small mirror, flicked it with a fingertalon, and concentrated on Torvil. The fog cleared from the mirror and Torvil slid his visor up to regard me.

  “Sire!” he greeted me. From the movement, I concluded they were riding somewhere at a trot or better.

  “I’ve been watching.”

  “Good. I’d hate to have to explain.”

  “You’ll have to explain to Lissette, not to me.”

  “Damn!”

  “Two questions. Is Liam alive, and what does he plan to do next?”

  “He’s fine, although a little upset. Right now, the plan is to fall back and regroup. By the time we have a headcount, he may have a decision.”

  “Under the circumstances, I’d say that’s fair.”

  “Agreed, Sire.”

  “I’m available if you need me.”

  “Understood.”

  “More importantly, tell Liam I’m available if he wants me.”

  “I’ll tell him, Sire.”

  “Good man.”

  He closed the mirror case and terminated the connection. I set my mirror aside and regarded the sand table. The city wasn’t going to sort through the bodies tonight. They lay wherever they fell. Come dawn and the morning light, no doubt the vultures would come to join the ravens.

  I sat back and pondered.

  Rethven, Wednesday, March 21st, Year 9

  After sunrise—and Firebrand’s kindly incineration of the resulting goo—I asked one of the black-armored bricks outside the scrying room to see if there was anything to eat. He saluted and assured me I would be fed.

  Bronze snorted. I had them send for a pile of coal, as well.

  I returned to my sand table and scrying mirrors. Rather than a formal meal or three, they brought me a variety of dishes suitable for munching on. Finger foods. Fruit slices, a cookie-like biscuit stuffed with meat paste, other things easy to eat while concentrating on more important matters. For Bronze, they wheeled in two wheelbarrows of coal. She crunched into her breakfast with enthusiasm.

  I snacked and scried and swore.

  Liam did the only thing he could do. He sent for the fleet—or part of it—while his remaining force made for a coastal village. They’d already marched through the place once. It had a dock suitable for loading and unloading without recourse to the smaller boats, as long as they were careful and only did one ship at a time. Between the dock and the ships’ boats, it drastically hastened their evolution from shore to ship.

  I was watching all around the place, hoping I wouldn’t find another mob of happy-heads pursuing them. In that much, at least, my hopes were fulfilled.

  Looking back toward Salacia, I also saw the aftereffects of their quasi-religious high. The survivors in the mob, the unwounded ones, pretty much universally turned out to be injured anyway. The majority were prostrate, still exhausted, and the few who were willing to move around did so only with special care and obvious pain. Of the thousands who survived, most simply lay wherever they fell when their bodies’ reserves were exhausted. My guess is they pushed the limits of flesh and so damaged themselves. They ran too fast, hit too hard, jumped too high, and tore, sprained, strained, and pulled… well, everything. If they couldn’t feel pain, there would be nothing to stop them from overdoing it, even to the point of breaking their own bones.

  It made them dangerous. Unlikely to survive, not exactly useful in the long term, but dangerous. Still, they were nothing but weapons for their masters, and they did their job. The human wave attacked the army, swamped it, killed most of it, and made it impossible to effect a siege. Now whoever called the shots seemed content to let the survivors crawl home, tails tucked.

  I would. After all, if they go home, they can tell everyone about the horror they encountered. It’ll be a generation before anyone wants to test the resolve of the Kingdoms of Light. After all, even their beggars will fight like badgers on meth. It’s not worth it.

  One of my mirrors rang. It was the main communications mirror. I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting a call.

  “Yes?” I asked, as the image rippled into focus. “Oh. Hello, Lissette.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Is it?” I asked. She hesitated.

  “No.”

  “What seems to be the trouble and how can I help?”

  “Can you destroy the kingdoms currently occupied and controlled by the Church of Light?”

  “Yes. I would rather not, though.”

  “No?” she asked, eyebrows rising. “Why not?”

  “I’m not really a Demon King. I just play one on TV.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean the persona of the Demon King isn’t really me. He would destroy everything living in those kingdoms. I dislike the idea of generalized mass slaughter.”

  “I know. I was wondering if you were willing.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Ouch?”

  “Do you think I like slaughter?”

  “No,” she agreed, instantly. “You hate it. But as a king, you sometimes must do what you abhor.”

  I blinked at her. She sounded sincere. I was expecting a note of satire or sarcasm or something.

  “Well… yes. You’re right. Uh, since I’d rather not crush our enemies quite so brutall
y, do you have any second choices?”

  “Before we get into that,” she said, hesitantly, “may I argue for the brutal crushing, as you put it?”

  “You can argue any point you like. I’ll always listen.”

  “Every time you say something like that, I want to believe you. I think I do believe you, or mostly.”

  “Oh?”

  “We can talk about that later,” she decided, waving a hand. “I called you because the kingdom has a problem. The Church of Light is dominating national entities, invading the political plane from the religious one. We’ve tried to fight back and failed.”

  “I saw. I was watching to see how it went.”

  “And you didn’t do anything?”

  “First, I’m kind of afraid to interfere. I tend to want to clear anything major with you, since you already told me I might be ruining your plans. Second, I didn’t have a good idea on how to interfere without killing thousands on both sides.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ve had a chance to sit and think, now, so I have some ideas on how to deal with those tactics, but it’s not something I can do with a snap of my fingers.”

  “That’s good to know, I suppose. Which still leaves me with an unsolved problem. Three kingdoms are just the beginning of the Church’s plans. You know they won’t stop at three.”

  “They’ll shoot for a theocratic empire encompassing the whole world,” I agreed.

  “How do I stop them? No—how can they be stopped?”

  I put my chin in my hand and drummed fingertalons on the edge of the sand table, thinking. Lissette watched me as I thought.

  “There are questions I don’t feel comfortable asking over a magic mirror,” I said, finally. “Do you mind if we have a private discussion, in person?”

  “Not at all. When should I expect you?”

  “I didn’t build the defensive spells around your palace, so it’s hard for me to pop in quickly. Do you have a magical gate in the palace, somewhere?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Do you have a court wizard or court magician?”

  “Frantil is the court magician.”

  “If I talk to him and arrange for a temporary gateway, would you be willing to visit me, here in the Arthur Palace?”

  “Arthur?”

  “It’s my name for the mountain.”

  “Arthur,” she repeated, slowly, as though tasting the word. “What does it mean?”

  “I named it after a legendary king. I got tired of referring to ‘Karvalen’ as a mountain, a city, a kingdom, and so on. The mountain is ‘Arthur,’ the city is ‘Vios,’ and the kingdom is ‘Karvalen’.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “You’re the first person I’ve told. I’m not sure it’ll catch on. Mostly it’s for me because I get confused easily.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So, will you visit me?”

  “Yes. I shall summon Frantil.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood up and walked away. I picked up a pocket mirror, transferred the call, and went outside to tell the Banner to prepare a sitting room for a private conference. He hurried off to make arrangements while the Blade and Shield followed me to the palace gate room. Bronze elected to wait in the scrying room.

  Frantil came into view on my small mirror. He was an older man—unsurprising, considering he was a magician—with salty dark hair, icy blue eyes, and a mouth like a slash across his face. I didn’t see any smile lines whatsoever. He looked grim. Yes, that’s the word: Grim. I wondered if he had any other expressions.

  “Your Majesty.”

  “You’re Frantil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ever worked with gates?”

  “No. I have studied some of their workings, but they are not my chosen field.”

  “What is your specialty?”

  “Defensive wardings, scrying, mystic and material shields, counterspells—that sort of thing.”

  “Good. I’m going to use this communications connection to target a gate. I’ll need your help making sure it bypasses the palace defenses.”

  “So I am given to understand. Let us proceed.”

  So we did. It took a few tries and a bit of instruction on my part—he had to partially prepare a doorway to act as a focus for the gate before we could successfully achieve a lock. The Palace of Carillon must be warded like a lich’s tomb.

  Lissette waited patiently until we established the connection. She stepped through with Malena and some other bodyguard, a lightweight, agile-looking fellow with a blade much like Malena’s. On closer observation, I recognized it as Malana’s blade, not a copy. Whoever he was, he was obviously held in high regard.

  We didn’t introduce bodyguards. We simply followed the Banner to the prepared sitting room. I felt the spells as we walked through the door. It was like walking through thick spiderweb—a distinctly unpleasant sensation. Our bodyguards took up stations around the room and the Banner seated himself to one side. He concentrated on the spells warding the room, monitoring them for penetrations.

  Once seated, I resumed our discussion.

  “I’ve been thinking about how to go about a direct, military conquest of the region, and I have questions.”

  “What would you like to know?” she asked.

  “The way I see it, we can do one of three things. We can start in the east, on the border of Kamshasa, and head west, conquering as we go. We can start on the western border and sweep east. Or we can do both, dividing our forces and forcing the Kingdoms of Light to split their attention. All of these, of course, also involve beating Ynar and Praeteyn before heading south into H’zhad’Eyn through those low mountains and swinging west and north through that spur of their territory toward the Edge. What do you think?”

  “I think…” she began, and paused. “I think you are immensely optimistic. You say you watched the slaughter at Salacia?”

  “I did.”

  “And you have some way to avoid that?”

  “I can think of a couple of tactics. Some are more slaughter-y than others.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. What I would suggest is starting at the northwestern end of H’zhad’Eyn and working down along the Edge. They are the most recent acquisition and my spies tell me it is not yet fully under the control of the Church. The lords of H’zhad’Eyn may yet have troops loyal to them. If we can drive out the priests, perhaps the local lords may yet maintain a sort of control and order once we have passed through.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I might also negotiate some assistance from Kamshasa.”

  “Really!”

  “I might. You certainly can not,” she pointed out. “They will have nothing to do with the King of Karvalen, but the ruling Queen of Karvalen might have more sway.”

  “Fair point. Do you think they would fight for us?”

  “No, and I will not ask them to. I will ask them for whatever assistance they may see fit to provide—and to fight for themselves, since they are threatened by this menace as much or more than we are.”

  “They didn’t do anything for us on this last excursion.”

  “They knew a huge force approached their western border. It landed on the coast hardly bowshot away and they did nothing to stop it,” she pointed out.

  “Ah. They didn’t help, but they trusted you enough to let you land troops.”

  “I’ve demonstrated some trustworthiness, yes. The defeat against the forces of Salacia, while terrible for us, is also further proof to them that the Church of Light is a powerful enemy. If you were to attack from the west, they might be persuaded to attack from the east—might, I say. They would insist on keeping any territory they gained, of course, but I see them as the lesser evil.”

  I didn’t comment about the devil you know. The devil I knew was the angelic thing masquerading as the Lord of Light.

  “I’ll go with it,” I agreed. “How much of an army can
Karvalen field?”

  “We could levy more commoners, but undisciplined troops cannot stand against… well, you saw what happened. What soldiers remain in the royal forces I dare not send away.”

  “What about drafting some of the professionals in service to the local lords?”

  “I can call for them, but I am hardly in a position to make demands.”

  “Right. I’ll see what I can scrounge up,” I decided. Lissette cocked her head at me with a curious expression.

  “You plan to employ your knights in the field.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think the Knights of Shadow can survive an onslaught such as that?”

  “From a strictly combat-oriented perspective? It depends. If we’re mounted, I think the added mobility can make the difference. Let the mob spread out, kill them by the ones and twos instead of facing a hundred at a time… Yes, I think so.”

  “That will involve many horses, and of the largest sort,” she pointed out.

  “Even on foot, those guys can show you a warriors grave, surrounded on all sides by walls of the enemy. Even if the mob overwhelms one of them, it’ll take some doing to get through their armor. It can be done, I’m sure, with a pickaxe and determination—or, if they’re capable of rational thought, simply pinning a knight down and unlatching his armor. I don’t favor the trade-off, though.”

  “You do seem to care about them,” she mused. I didn’t answer that, but continued.

  “I’d rather let my guys have every advantage possible. If human wave attacks are the big trick for the Kingdoms of Light, they’re not going to enjoy the countermeasures.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m not sure I can explain.”

  “Is it a secret?”

  “No, they’re just advanced concepts. You don’t expect your magician to explain how his spells work, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “My spells require a ton of information before they’re comprehensible, too.”

  “I see.”

  “On a more political note, do you think the other churches will want to defend the kingdom?”