Nightlord: Shadows

by Garon Whited

  After confirming our identity, our mission, our intentions, and our schedule, we were invited to pass through the south gate, pick up supplies and a platoon of volunteers, and proceed out through the north gate. We could camp on the north fields, which were lying fallow this season. We agreed, did as requested, and we picked up a messenger from the palace while we were at it. Naturally, I was invited to dine with the Prince.

  This is starting to feel familiar.

  I showed up to dinner with Lissette. She didn’t have anything feminine and formal to wear, of course, but with her hair braided and tucked up under her helmet, armor could be considered formal. Everyone we met in Tegron treated it as formal, anyway. It’s possible they just didn’t want to risk offending a lady by rude comments.

  Prince Seraclin had his wife, Lady Merinde, with us for dinner. I wasn’t certain if she had been included at the last second, because of Lissette, or if he had intended to have her join us all along. She kept quiet through most of the meal, however, and seemed uncomfortable.

  As usual, the conversation turned to the legends of nightlords in general and the rumors, stories, tales, and other stuff going around about me in particular. I manfully concealed my irritation at having to go through this sort of thing yet again and did my best to answer politely and with a cheerful tone.

  Maybe I should write a book.

  Seraclin, for his part, seemed a pretty reasonable guy. He had that charisma that made people aware of his authority without the bother of introductions. He wasn’t physically imposing, but you knew he was there the moment he walked into the room. He wore his hair moderately long and held back by a diadem. He was clean-shaven and had a wide, friendly smile that seemed to be genuine. I think he just liked people on general principles.

  He was new to the Prince business, having inherited the place two years ago; his major goal in life was to continue enhancing the economic prosperity of the princedom, and therefore of his people. I always thought that if you enhanced the people’s economic prosperity, the realm would automatically profit by it. Then again, I’m not an economist, and despite being a blood-sucking parasite, I’m not a politician, either.

  All in all, it was a good dinner. We established that Karvalen and Tegron could profitably trade with each other, and that Vathula was unlikely to be a problem in the near future. That surprised him.

  “Galgar come down from the Eastrange and steal things all the time,” Seraclin pointed out. “My grandfather commissioned a digging project to divert a portion of the Caladar to form a river-moat along our eastern border, just to put a stop to that.”

  “Did it work?”

  “It was decided that the ground was too difficult. Lots of forest and rocky land in that region. Instead, we helped the villages along the eastern border build timber walls. That doesn’t stop the galgar from coming down to the farm, but it keeps the valuables behind a wall.”

  “I’ll have a word with Vathula,” I promised. “The thievery won’t stop, but I’ll make sure they all know they’ll be punished for it.” I shrugged. “Thieves know they’ll be punished if they’re caught, but they do it anyway. It may not help much, but we’ll try.”

  “I am gratified by your kindness.”

  “Do I detect an ironic tone?”

  “A trifle of unintentional irony, perhaps. You are one of the dark kings, after all. Please pardon me.”

  “Of course. So, now that we’ve had dinner, negotiated for the mutual profit of our realms, and taken the measure of each other, what do you think? Am I the blood-drinking monster of legends, come to suck the life out of your city and consume the souls of everyone who lives in it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. I hate to telegraph things like that.”

  “Tele—?”

  “I hate to give people that impression.”

  “Ah. And what do you think?”

  “I think you’re a conscientious ruler and you want what’s best for your people. You’re a bit concerned with military matters, but that’s reasonable. There are other concerns, from trade to education to religion, and you’re aware of it and working on them, but they have to take second place to keeping people alive. Am I wrong?”

  “No,” he said, thoughtfully. “No, I can see that. It’s not a complete picture, of course.”

  “Naturally not, but it’s good enough for me to go on with. We brought a magic mirror for you, or your court wizard if you don’t want to do it yourself. You can reach Karvalen through it and have your people talk to my people. If you need to, you can usually talk directly to me. I figure it will help communicate quickly and accurately—it should beat having to send a letter on horseback, anyway.”

  “Indeed. But may I ask a military question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “I noticed banners from Philemon mixed in with your own.”

  “Yes?”

  “I assume Larsus parted with those troops in exchange for something.” He nodded toward Lissette. “Would I be right?”

  “Yep. Larsus wanted me married off in exchange for becoming a baron of Karvalen. He got it, and I got most of his army. He didn’t expect that I would also get a good queen out of the deal.”

  Lissette bit her lips, trying not to smile. I pretended not to notice. Seraclin also pretended not to notice, probably because he didn’t know what it signified.

  “I take it, then, that you are not interested in marrying my daughter,” he observed. “Well, I can’t really blame the old man for jumping on that opportunity.”

  “Well, as for marriage alliances, you’re welcome to send any boys between ten and fourteen to meet my granddaughter. If she likes them, we’ll discuss it.”

  “Isn’t she a priestess of that fire-goddess? The Mother of Flame?”

  “Not exactly. She’s a fire-witch, not a priestess.”

  “I thought they were the same thing.”

  “A common mistake, and one I already explained to the Mother of Flame. Tianna will be a priestess only if she feels like it.”

  “Won’t the Mother of Flame have something to say about that?”

  “She hasn’t had much to say about anything since we had our fight.”

  There followed a thick, awkward silence. Seraclin addressed Lissette to break it.

  “So, your father married you off to a king. How is that working out for you?”

  “It’s difficult,” she admitted. “He’s not a normal man; he’s a Lord of Night. That’s… difficult. But he’s kind and gentle, and very understanding. I have a lot to learn about how to be… someone who… fits in to his kingdom, but I think it’s a good thing. I’ve been very lucky.”

  I was blushing. Seraclin must have diplomatic training; he was expert at not noticing certain things.

  “I see you’re in armor, and armed. Are you going to battle?”

  “I plan to.” Lissette glanced at me. “I’m hoping to.”

  “I plan to let her,” I told him. “I also plan to do some fighting of my own. I’m wasted, otherwise.”

  “Yes, I heard about the viksagi. I would be greatly surprised to learn you did not enter battle.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed. “Well, this has been a wonderful dinner and an even more wonderful chat. Unfortunately, I have an army to move, a war to fight, and all sorts of magical stuff to see to. If you will excuse us?”

  “Actually, there is something I wish to discuss with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Certainly. What is it?”

  “I note that you are gaining lands on this side of the Eastrange. May I ask your intentions regarding the principalities of old Rethven?”

  I thought about it for a minute. Larsus offered me a deal and I took it. Whether I wanted to or not…

  “I’m hoping that I can be on friendly terms with all of them,” I began. “I have no desire to conquer anything. But… if a friendly trading partner decides that being a prince is less pleasant than being a duke, I won’t tell him no. I guess I’m willing
to put Rethven back together as a kingdom, but I’m not willing to tear it apart further.”

  Seraclin sat back and steepled his fingers. He looked at me with a frankly appraising gaze.

  “Interesting,” was all he said. “Well, I shan’t keep you. I do hope we can discuss more on your political plans sometime in the future.”

  “You’ve got the mirror,” I pointed out. “As soon as this thing with Byrne is over, I hope to have a little more time.”

  “Yes. I should imagine.”

  Lissette, of course, wanted to talk on the way out of Tegron. Her horse was shorter than Bronze by more than a foot; it was one of the light, fast horses common in the sea of grass, so she kept it close by to make conversation easier.

  “I’ve been talking to your knights,” she said.

  “They’re good guys,” I replied.

  “They are. And they have a lot of opinions on how to be a good knight.”

  “I imagine they do.”

  “They talk about it a lot,” she added.

  “Oh? What do they say?”

  “That it’s hard. They’re not sure exactly what makes them a ‘good’ knight, but they do seem to love debating it.”

  “Good.”

  “What do you think makes a good knight?”

  “A knight should demonstrate the virtues of wisdom, courage, discipline—self-discipline, the only real kind—justice, hope, and love. He or she should be righteous in wrath, gentle in peace, noble at all times. Trustworthy—not merely honest, but worthy of trust. Loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, cheerful, thrifty, clean, and brave.

  “In short, a better person than I am. And if he or she can’t be a better person than I am, they should have at least a fierce desire to.”

  “You don’t want much, do you?” she asked, lightly seasoned with sarcasm.

  “Only the best of what they can be. People can be horrifying monsters, unutterably evil, and more cruel than any Thing from the Outer Darkness. But they can also be all those good things I’ve described. The capacity is in everyone—I ought to know.” Lissette snorted. I chuckled. “I’m guessing you disagree.”

  “A little.”

  “Okay. But what I’m trying to build is a tradition that power and responsibility are intertwined. If a nobleman isn’t noble—if a titled individual does not use his power wisely and for the greater good—then he isn’t really a nobleman and will shortly be without a title.”

  I grinned at her, showing teeth.

  “I’m hoping the survivors will either adopt the tradition wholeheartedly or quit the job.”

  She thought about that one for a while and we rode quietly, listening to the ringing sounds of Bronze’s hooves and the more dull, clanking sound of the other horse’s shoes.

  “So, how do I become a knight?”

  “It’s not easy, being a knight,” I countered. “It’s more than just a station in life. It’s a promise.”

  “A promise?”

  “I’m not qualified to be a knight, no matter how good I am with weapons. I’m not a good person. I’m just trying to be, and that’s the promise. I know I’m not good enough, but I’ve promised myself that I’ll try to be. Have you heard stories about their training, before I knighted them?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure I believe them,” she admitted. “You can’t walk along a slack rope in armor.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I countered. “But your disbelief tells me the entrance exam might be tough enough. I want it to weed out people who are afraid to attempt the impossible and who lack determination. Knights should be people who want to serve, rather than rule, and are determined to do so.”

  “What about someone determined to rule? Or greedy enough, or envious enough, to be driven by it?”

  “Good question. I’m starting to think you’ll make a good Queen,” I told her. “The physical exhaustion weeds out those without the will. Determining what they want comes later, when I look at their souls.”

  “That makes me uncomfortable,” she admitted. “I don’t like the idea that you can just look at someone and know all about them. It’s… I don’t know.”

  “It bothers me, too,” I admitted.

  “It does? Why?”

  “Because your soul should be your business. I don’t like looking at it, or reading your thoughts, or doing anything else that strips away your masks and leaves you naked and exposed. People should be allowed the privacy of their own hearts and minds. I usually only take a close look at what I’m eating.”

  Lissette looked at me with an unreadable expression.

  “You know, you frighten me,” she said, conversationally.

  “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

  “Just so you know.”

  “I’m not trying to,” I pointed out. She said nothing for a moment, thinking.

  “I’m pretty sure that makes it worse.”

  “Sorry.”

  We exited the city. Going through the gates prompted a lot of saluting. I waved back. Once outside, Lissette resumed our conversation.

  “You know, you’re asking your knights to be unbelievably… something. Noble?”

  “I know. What I want are Lensmen, but I’m no Arisian, and I don’t think I can make a Lens.”

  “What’s an Arisian?”

  “Long story; at least six books’ worth. My point is that I do want them to be unbelievably noble, good, upright, righteous, and so on. They won’t succeed.”

  “And you want them to try anyway? Knowing they’ll fail?”

  “What did I say about being afraid to attempt the impossible? They’ll fail, but they’ll fail because they’re human, and therefore imperfect. If they fail because of a lack of commitment to trying, they aren’t the people I want for knights.”

  “It’s okay to fail?”

  “In this case, yes. It’s not about succeeding at… at… at walking that fine line between goodness and practicality. It’s about trying to be perfect in spite of knowing they’ll fail. If they ever give up, if they can give up, they’re not the knights I want them to be. You might say that’s the key quality to becoming a knight.”

  “You might be the strangest king the world has ever seen.”

  “Certainly the strangest Lord of Night,” I said, smiling. Lissette only nodded. “Regretting your marriage, yet?”

  “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Really? I thought I was a disappointment.”

  “How would I know? I’ve never been married. You seem to be surprisingly decent. It makes me wonder what horrible secrets are lurking underneath.”

  “Just the usual.”

  “After that lecture on how horrible people can be, I’m not sure that helps.”

  We didn’t have much to say after that.

  Saturday, August 14th

  We’ve been much more cautious on our march to Verthyn. We were getting close to known enemy territory so our scouts ranged farther out and we posted extra sentries. Thomen had the wizards’ corps casting shielding and blocking spells to cloud any attempt to locate or scry on us, just so we couldn’t be accurately targeted. I spent most of my nights ranging ahead and around, looking for some sign of enemy forces with the Mark One Eyeball, rather than magical scrying devices.

  Okay, maybe Mark Two or Three. But still, I looked with naked eyes, rather than through a possibly-spoofed magical sensor. It was doubtful that Byrne had the magical forces to spare for concealing a whole army—wizarding types are comparatively rare in Rethven—but hiding a few squads of raiders might not be out of the question.

  I did take a night to run Tort’s errand, though. Bronze blazed up the road, terrifying everything as she thundered by, bearing me on a fast tour around the northeastern portion of Rethven. We didn’t hit every city, but we got the major ones. Mael was north of Verthyn and we had no idea whose it was. I rode right up to the wall, carved off a piece, and was gone again before the sentries could do more than sound an alarm and take potshots at me. We repeated th
is process with Shaen and Danaan, then continued along the Eastrange to Delvedale.

  I remembered Delvedale. It wasn’t much of a town, but it used to be a living one. The creatures in and under the mountains drove the humans out of it or killed them. It was a ruin.

  I didn’t feel like sticking around to reminisce. We pushed onward, up to Blackrock, then circled east and south to Byrne, itself. Then down to Hearth, followed by a long run south to Faelor. I was briefly tempted to head west to Telen, just to see the place, but the night was moving along. We took the road to Mael, then south, past Verthyn. It was better than cross-country, I suppose.

  Meanwhile, Tort racked up some overtime with the sand table; she got a good look at the march route to Verthyn. She examined the road ahead and everything for a mile or so to either side of it. Where necessary, she gave us an image through the main mirror, warning us of obstacles. As an example, we detoured around an area where the Caladar had flooded due to some storms in the Eastrange. We would have bogged down or floated away, otherwise; as it was, we didn’t get our feet wet.

  She also opened a gate for a few seconds. I pitched a bag containing rocks from the city walls, each clearly labeled, and she pitched across a rolled-up tube of maps.

  Which reminds me. I really need to see about building a small gate, maybe a foot across, for package handling. Maybe a slightly larger one, as well, for diving through. If I include a proximity trigger, I could take a run at it, dive through the suddenly-opened gate, and have it snap shut again. Both would be useful and cost substantially less energy to use. The main gate is suitable for riding a gigantic horse through; that much surface area means it costs a bundle to open.

  Anyway, detailed city maps—hell, decent maps of any sort—are a new thing around here, but suddenly very popular. We used the ones of Verthyn to plan an assault, just in case. Our latest reports said it was still an independent city, but you never know. We might have to take it.