Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  “Where is Kamshasa?”

  “Far to the south, across the sea.”

  “Okay. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

  “If you will claim I am your wife, you will provide for me as if I were.”

  “Good point. You’re sharp.”

  “I am gata. Or was.”

  “You still are, for as long as you live. Nobody can take away what you are. Now where do we go?”

  “East. Far, far east. Nearly to the Eastrange, then south.”

  “We’ve been heading northwest to get here.”

  She nodded. “Anyone who seeks a nightlord will think you are heading into the west, to the edge of the world and the City of Bones. East leads to the mountains; nothing wholesome lives in the Eastrange. Southeast will take us to Baret and the coast. It is as far distant as one may go and yet be within the kingdom.”

  I looked at her again with new respect. “You are sharp. So what’s a city of bones?”

  “It is an ancient place, accursed of the gods and haunted by the dead,” she replied, coolly.

  I wondered how hard I had touched her. Surely not that hard. Well, only time would tell.

  “Okay. I’m going to see about a mount. You wait here.”

  “Yes.”

  I climbed down and hunted around to find the hostler. I had to pound on the door for a while to wake him. A ruby ring was enough to make him forget the hour, and a pouch of mixed gold and silver coins was enough to make him smile at the opportunity to do business. There was also a significant look I gave him, along with a small crackle of static electricity all through my hair. It was a neat effect and I was proud of it. It also clued him I was a wizard. He was very happy to do business—and see me leave.

  I fed the horses some treats and made friends with them. They liked me immediately. Good for me, maybe not so good for them. Leading a string of horses—six of them, in fact—I headed down the street toward a fountain.

  It was a very nice fountain. Don’t ask me how the thing spouted water, but it did. It was a large basin with a rearing horse of bronze in the center, mane wild, nostrils wide, mouth gushing water. I’d seen it earlier while I was roaming around the city. It was a big, more-than-life-size statue, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  I led my string of horses into the fountain, arranging them carefully so they were all standing with their forward hooves in the water. Several took the opportunity to drink. I let them, then bound a cloth around their eyes to keep them quiet. I tied their lead-lines to the base of the statue.

  I’m sure you see where this is going. I needed a steed that could run longer than any normal horse—six times longer would suit me just fine. Six times faster would also be nice, if I could swing it. I could ride a horse, at least for a while. I’m not a lightweight anymore. But everyone who might chase me could also ride a horse—maybe a faster one. I needed something that wouldn’t get tired. Since I didn’t have a nuclear-powered land rover on hand…

  I poured a lot of personal energies into the spell I placed on and within the bronze statue. Actually, it wasn’t a spell as such, but an enchantment. The difference being mainly that a spell has energy emplaced within it and expires when that energy is exhausted. An enchantment is a permanent spell, capable of drawing energy from the ambient magic of the world around it to power its effects—and much more difficult to do in terms of complexity and raw power.

  It was rather like the magic bound up in Firebrand—and in this case, modeled a lot after it. My studies had included brief notes on such things, but I’d never actually done it. There’s something to be said for a formal apprenticeship. So I was relying on having an example of a somewhat-sentient enchanted object and copying the design.

  I was also making my life easy on the enchantment end. By using horses for the sacrifice, as well as a horse statue for the object, I was creating a mount. I could have done it with a dozen cattle and a fallen tree with the limbs still on it, but it would have taken a lot longer and a lot more power. With correspondence and resonance working for me, this was tons easier!

  So I killed all six horses, one after the other, focusing their power and their spirits into the cold metal—using their lives and pieces of my own power to give it life of its own.

  There was a terrible screaming sound as the metal hooves tore free of the base and splashed into the bloody basin. I hadn’t realized just how big the statue was until it got down; on all fours, its shoulder was a good foot higher than my head! It shook its mane and the mane divided into individual hairs, tinkling like bits of wire. It looked at me and wisps of smoke came from its hide; the greenish patina of old bronze was starting to fade to a brownish color. The whole statue was loosening up and moving more fluidly by the moment, as well as growing hotter. Steam rose around the hooves. Water inside it boiled and steam poured out the nose, mouth, even the ears. I could feel heat radiating from the whole thing.

  It snorted—a scorching blast of steam—and then nuzzled me with a nose almost hot enough to cook on.

  That’s when I realized I hadn’t a clue what to name it…

  Shouts echoed down the street. The sound of tearing metal tends to wake people.

  … Nor time to consider it.

  I laid a hand on its forehead, between the eyes—which were flowing slightly as they melted; they turned into orbs that could roll within new sockets—gritted my teeth at the heat, and said, “Your name is Bronze.”

  Bronze nodded and shivered almost like a horse, but more like a ripple in liquid. I snatched my hand back quickly and waved it to cool it. Ow.

  “Let’s go.”

  We ran from whoever it was. I was on foot and not about to mount a horse-shaped frying pan without a saddle. But both of us are faster than a man on foot. We vacated the area. I wondered who would be after me for stealing the fountain. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the bodies of the six horses.

  Back at the stables, I noted Bronze had cleaned up nicely, almost to a polish, and the heat had diminished. I had the hostler get the saddle on—it took a sharp look, a hand on the hilt of Firebrand, and a snap of the fingers that involved an electrical discharge—while I went up into the loft to get Utai.

  We mounted, Utai in front of me.

  “Hostler!” I called.

  “Aye, your wizardship?” he replied, obviously afraid there was a frog in his future.

  “Did you see anything strange tonight?”

  “No indeed, your wizardship!”

  “If I find you have, I swear by the power of Einstein and Bergenholm that you’ll have cause to regret it! Mark me!”

  “As you say, your wizardship.”

  “Good!”

  I kicked Bronze with a ringing sound and the hooves made a metallic thudding on the cobbles. We charged down the Market Street, headed west, and I toyed with gravity again.

  Levitation is tough. Picking something up is rough work with just my brain. That’s because I’m supplying a force with nothing but my own little grey cells. It’s much easier to manipulate an existing force than to conjure up a new one.

  Smoothing out dented space is likewise tough to do—but it’s a mostly a matter of volume, not of mass. It appears to be an expenditure on a hyperbolic curve. It’s not so bad for a minor change, but the closer one gets to fully zero gravity the more power it takes. For me, it’s not too hard to lose half to three-quarters of my weight. For me and a passenger it’s harder, but not too bad; the spell is like a field that just needs a little more size to encompass the extra person. For something the size of a horse and the two of us… that’s tough. It’s over ten times the size I would use for just me—and it’s a linear expression. Ten times the area would mean ten times the power. But I wasn’t shooting for anything too strenuous; just a decrease enough to hurdle a twelve-foot wall.

  I made a note to someday figure out a way to flip gravity, rather than just smooth the dents out by pulling the edges of space tighter. In the meantime, I “
pulled” on one edge of space harder than the others; it was like the world tilted. Gravity shifted to pull us forward and it seemed we were suddenly going downhill as the whole world tilted. We gained speed.

  I suppose we could have gone out through one of the town gates, but the town closes up for the night. We would have to crash our way out. I didn’t much care for that idea. If I could avoid having people know when I came and how I left, I would. Besides, I didn’t want to get arrested for stealing a piece of civic decoration.

  Bronze was doing about forty miles an hour when I gave the signal to jump; there was a lurch as I shifted gravity again, minimizing it, and I felt the sudden shove as Bronze hit the air. Utai slammed back into me and I held on to Bronze’s mane for dear life; the wires cut into my hands, but I barely noticed. Then there was a wall in front of us, beneath us, behind us… and ground sailing past in a long, long leap.

  Hot dog! Or hot horse; the metal was doing a nice job of warming my butt right through the saddle.

  Bronze landed with a serious thud—serious to Utai and to I, but not to the horse. Bronze fell into a steady pace, sticking to the road. Half a night of travel like this should give any pursuit a heck of a trail to follow. Then a day of rest… then double back around to head southeast… I liked that plan.

  We rode into the night.

  It was a long night. Before an hour had passed, Bronze began to emit smoke from both nostrils in a steady stream. Occasionally, there was a blue-green spark as a hoof struck a stone just right. I felt like I was riding a locomotive, not a horse.

  But there was never a locomotive that could leap a wall, pound through a ford—leaving hissing, steaming clouds as it went—and turn sharply enough to stick to a hilly road.

  We came to a halt on a hilltop just a few minutes before dawn; it was partially ringed about with low, broken walls and scattered trees. Along one side of the hill were scattered stones, possibly from what might have once been a tower. I dismounted with a feeling of shivering and prickling all over my skin. In another few moments it was going to become actively painful.

  “Utai—mind the horse.”

  “I have it.”

  “Bronze—mind the woman.”

  Bronze nodded.

  In the back of my mind I wondered just how smart Bronze was. With the rest of it I was concentrating on getting into a plastic bag in the shadow of a ruined wall.

  Sunrise ran its riot through me. I learned something important, too; never be too cold. I became mortal again with a profound sense of cold. The wind chill must have been considerable at that speed, despite Bronze’s heat. I shivered even after the sun rose, almost convulsively, and deliberately tensed all my muscles, trying to overcome the frozen numbness. It worked slowly. I unzipped the bag.

  Utai gathered wood and had a good fire going. I marveled inwardly at how she had managed to get such a blaze going so quickly. I huddled near the fire with her.

  Of course, she must have been even colder; she rode in front. Then again, she was alive and generating her own heat inside her cloak.

  Neither of us was warm for quite a while. I rummaged in my stuff and found a blanket of thermal film; we wrapped up together in that until the worst of the shivering stopped. Eventually I lifted down my pack—noting as I did so that I now had saddlebags to go with the saddle; it’s good to have a horse—and poured water and a packet of dehydrated soup into the aluminum cup. I put it in the fire and Utai and I split it once it was hot; both of us felt better for it.

  “This looks like a good spot,” I offered. “We’ll stay here for the day. I doubt anyone will be able to catch up to us after that ride.”

  “I agree. May I sleep?”

  “Sure.” I unwrapped myself from the blanket and she rolled up in it. Without a word, she lay down by the fire and pillowed her head on one arm.

  While she slept, I wondered what I did to her—and wished I could touch her mind then as I could at night. She lost her extended family, was nearly killed, lost her only remaining relative, was then raped, followed by having to cope with a blood-sucking fiend of evil—and now she was napping. Inwardly, I knew I’d screwed up in calming her. How was the question. And would she recover on her own? And could I fix it, if not?

  Things were not all good. There will be a lot of self-kicking in the near future. Listening to someone’s thoughts might not be so bad if I have to do it, but doing things to the way people think and feel is just plain wrong. I can’t explain it. It just is. And I hate myself for doing it to Utai. I didn’t like the idea of touching her mind again, but I feel obligated to try and fix her if I broke her.

  So I petted Bronze—who seemed to enjoy it, oddly enough—and transferred some gear from my pack to the saddlebags. I shook out her mane and my dried blood flaked easily from the metal.

  “So how smart are you?” I asked, trying to distract myself. Besides, I like my new horse.

  Bronze nodded and pawed the ground, leaving a furrow.

  “Smarter than an average horse?”

  Bronze stomped six times and shook its mane, making that wiry tinkling sound again.

  “Hmmm. Good.”

  I mounted up and we went out of the ruins at a walk, taking a tour in a circle around the place to have a better look around. It was nice country, full of low, rolling hills, covered in grass and with clusters of trees. This was the highest hill for some distance, which would explain why it was selected to have a structure built on it—how long ago? I wondered why it was allowed to fall to ruin.

  Farther west I could see mountains, reminding me of the Appalachians, blue-tinged with distance and haze. These didn’t look quite as worn down. If I hadn’t seen the stars and the odd constellations, I would have been happy to think I was somewhere in my own world.

  Come to that, I might have been happy to be in my own world. I’d learned a lot about the opposition already—and, given a chance, going home and starting over might be worthwhile.

  Then again, even if I could get back home, could I come back here again? Without finding a hundred armed guards watching the magic doorway like a conclave of cats at a mousehole? Could I even get through the door to get home? I had the keys to it stuffed in my backpack, true, but it looked like it took three normal wizards to open it. Or could I just use any doorway as a target in my own world—and a lot more herd animals to force a connection?

  Decisions, decisions.

  I would stay, I decided. Tough it out. There was a lot more to learn and doubtless much I could accomplish. Well… hopefully, much I could accomplish.

  Another thing. It was important to me to find out who, exactly, was behind this unreasonable—as I saw it—desire to harm my person. The Church of this place? Or was it a private thing by some powerful individual with the appropriate connections and influence? Sure, the Church ran the Hand of Light, as they called it, but were they really the ones doing it? It would seem so… unless some other power was pushing for it. Or was it just the Hand, as a splinter of the Church? Or just the Cardinal of Telen—apparently the head of the Hand? Maybe it was a cabal of overzealous nitwits within the Hand? Did the kingdom know and approve? Were the wizards working the archway being paid, pushing the project, or just devout?

  Lots of questions, no answers.

  We walked back into the ruins; I was thoughtful, Bronze was placid. I dismounted and shoved a rock near the fire. I sat down and leaned back against it, noticed the fire was dying down. I sighed and got up again to gather some more wood. With the fire built back up, I dipped into my—our—supplies and ate. Then I decided on a nap.

  “Bronze. Guard.”

  Bronze nodded and walked out of the ruins.

  “Smart horse,” I muttered, and drowsed.

  I woke up to the sound of sobbing. It was very quiet, but persistent. I didn’t so much open my eyes as look out through slitted lids.

  Utai was curled up in the blanket, still asleep; she was crying in her sleep. While I was greatly relieved to see it, I was also… I don’t
know. I just don’t like it when women cry.

  I got up and moved around the fire to her—adding some more wood as I went—and sat down near her. Placing her head in my lap, I smoothed her hair and let her weep. She calmed eventually and her breathing became regular. This pleased me enormously. It meant I hadn’t broken her emotions permanently.

  Bronze looked in from one of the gaps in the ruined wall. I nodded. It nodded. Bronze resumed walking around.

  Utai woke about mid-afternoon. She looked up at me, her head still in my lap, and her brows drew together.

  “How much of last night was a dream?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you think happened?”

  She sat up and related to me a fairly accurate account of what had transpired, up to her sleeping; I stopped her there.

  “Anything after that was a dream,” I said. She sagged visibly in relief. “What?” I asked. “Lots of naughty dreams?”

  She blushed. “A gentleman would not ask such a question.”

  “Probably not. Hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  I reflected that I would have to get more food soon. Possibly a hunting trip this evening; I was running low on MREs and tuva. I handed her a packet of barbequed chicken and the canteen. She spitted the chicken on a sharp stick and warmed it; I don’t think she liked the idea of chemicals and water being used to heat something up. Well, it is a little strange to watch, first time you see it.

  “So tell me more about the City of Bones and this Eastrange,” I said.

  “What would you know?”

  “Anything.”

  “The City of Bones is a ruin from long ago, right on the world’s western edge. Nothing lives there, and the dust of ancient bones blows in the streets. It is an evil place, haunted, and home to all manner of unquiet ghosts. Great buildings stand as monuments to a civilization long-dead, cursed by the gods for arrogance. I have heard it is death to go there for any who are not already so.

  “The Eastrange stretches north and south for a thousand leagues or more, from the Southern Sea to beyond the Kingdom’s northern border. Where it finally stops…” she shrugged. “Perhaps the viksagi know. I do not. The mountains have but a single true pass through to the great grasslands of the east and the barbarians that live there.”