Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  “Okay, what’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I may not understand women—no, I take that back; I don’t understand women—but I’m not stupid. Foolish may be another matter entirely, but I’m not stupid.

  “Right. I’m not buying. You’re shaking like a leaf in a breeze and you won’t tell me why.”

  She looked at me with an expression of fear and longing.

  “You have powerful enemies,” she stated.

  “I suppose I do. It works both ways; I’m not too thrilled with the Hand.”

  “The Hand would not call the Hunt.”

  This was news to me. “Why not?”

  Her expression changed to pity.

  “You know so little,” she began. “The Hunt is of the Old Ones. The Huntsman is the god of the hunt, and no man of the Church would perform his rites or make sacrifice to him. Even magicians dare not slay an animal for their magic; it is against the laws of both Church and King. Any who do so risk death with their discovery. Whoever has sent the Hunt must fear you more than death itself.”

  I thought about that, all of it. I’d better keep my mouth shut about how I enchanted Bronze. As for fearing something more than death itself, I doubted anyone was exceptionally scared of me. What I am, perhaps, but not me, personally.

  Aloud, I asked, “So, he doesn’t go hunting on his own?”

  “Never. His kind manifest only when summoned. Even so, he usually guides a mortal hunter; he seldom takes flesh of his own. Someone offered a powerful inducement to send him bodily after you.”

  “Like what?”

  “A life for a life,” she stated. “One of equal value.”

  A life for a life. Someone died to summon that thing to chase me. Or was killed. And that might explain why the Huntsman was willing to let me go—nobody had paid him to hunt down a nightlord. Maybe they’d find out what happens when you try to cheat a god. I can hope, anyway.

  “I see. So I’ve got a whole new enemy from somewhere. Lovely.”

  “Perhaps it is merely some overzealous magician in the service of the Hand,” she suggested, but didn’t sound certain.

  “One that’s willing to slit throats and chant just to get me? I don’t think I’ve done anything to make them take me personally. How strict is this rule about not killing things to power spells?”

  “It is one of the few things that can bring the King and the Church and the magicians into league,” she answered. “It is one of the darkest of arts.”

  Except on an altar, I bet—then it’s a sacrifice to their god. Of course, that’s okay. Feeding time in the temple. A completely different matter. Naturally.

  I poked up the fire and added more wood. We were far enough away from any habitation that I didn’t feel too bad about the light and smoke. Besides, Shada needed the light to feel more secure. Being off in the middle of nowhere after having been enspelled into slumber while your bloodsucking companion runs for his life from a god of the hunt will make anyone edgy, I suppose. Come to think of it, I didn’t mind having a cheery glow, myself.

  “Nice,” I commented. “Does the Church have a lot of magicians on the payroll?”

  “I do not know. Magicians are men, like any other, save their gift of magic. Some feel the calling of the gods, others hear it but do not heed, and others are deaf.”

  “Good to know. What do you think other magicians will think? The ones who don’t much care for the Church?”

  She shrugged. “I cannot tell. I would think they will fear you and seek to pull you down. But I do not know; I have never been close to any magician.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll leave them alone, if I can.”

  She was interrupted by an exclamation: “By the seven silver circles of Salacia, I am most pleased to hear you say that!”

  This was a new voice and came from beyond the firelight. I looked in that direction and witnessed a man fade into view. I could see the webwork of a spell around him dissolving away.

  Interesting.

  “And who are you?” I called back, keeping one hand on Firebrand’s hilt.

  “My name is not important. Indeed, it may be unwise to tell it to you at present, given that there are many who are seeking you and many more who will start.”

  “Then what do you want, Not Important?” He smiled slightly at my little joke.

  “Might I come into your camp and sit down? I should like to pass much speech with you.”

  “Come ahead,” I replied, and loosened Firebrand in its scabbard.

  He hesitated. “You will have no need of your blade, I assure you.”

  “Permit me my little peccadilloes,” I replied. “It hasn’t been a good week.”

  He nodded and walked into the light. I had already seen him clearly, but Shada watched him intently. He was a younger man, slightly on the short side, quite stocky, with a bristle of dark blonde hair covering his head and a well-trimmed, short beard. In his left hand, he carried a staff. He wore brown robes, slit up the sides for easy running, and had on a peculiar belt of many pouches and pockets. A variety of odd odors came from this last. I gathered he was either attached to many strange snacks or carried a variety of materials for his spells. He looked sort of familiar, as if I’d seen him in a crowd or met his brother.

  “Have a seat,” I offered, indicating a log. He settled himself down, leaning the staff on his shoulder.

  “I am here to make you an offer,” he began.

  “What sort of offer?”

  “I represent several individuals who feel the Church’s influence is just a trifle too great.”

  “Ah. Do go on.”

  “We feel that you—with a bit of help—could do a great deal of damage to the Church proper by undermining some of the tenets the common man accepts as truth, further weakening the faith they have in it.”

  “Maybe,” I allowed. I was surprised to hear, well, such an academic discussion. “Why don’t you do it yourselves?”

  “Ah!” he replied, looking mortified. “That’s the trouble; we would, and well do they know it. It is a small thing for a circle of magicians to slay a man, or even ten men, but to slay the leaders of the Church so? Ten men can die in flames, but thousands will take up arms, seek us out, and pull us down. The people are a problem.

  “The priests—most especially the Hand clerics—also go on about how they keep all evil at bay, constantly. To some degree they do, but the cost is high. Which, unto my mind, seems an evil in and of itself, although you will not hear me say so in earshot of any priest. The faith of today is not the faith of a century ago—but aged does not mean infirm.”

  I learned a lot of things—spoken, assumed, and implied—from that explanation.

  “How do I fit in with this?” I asked. He chuckled.

  “Obviously, the knowledge of your presence in this world would do much to discredit Cardinal Tobias of the Hand. He is the one who is charged with keeping evil subdued, and he is also the one who is responsible for carrying the offensive against evil onto its own ground.”

  “The Cardinal of Telen,” I mused. The fanatic in the basement had mentioned him. Now I had a name to go with it, a position, a job description…

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Be a nightlord. Do… whatever it is you do. Kill people. Spread terror. Make it obvious that a nightlord lives in the world again. It is thought by some that you will hide in the deep places of the world. Others think you will open the Shadow Gate. I and those of like mind would see you abroad and visible.”

  “And draw fire, you mean.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, looking puzzled.

  “You want me to go out and make the Church look bad, like they aren’t doing their job. Right?”

  “In essence, yes.”

  “And the result? The Church works exceptionally hard at doing its job,” I pointed out. “They try to kill me. Don’t tell me they can’t find me; you did. They have magicians on
staff. I’ve seen them.” He looked embarrassed and would not meet my eyes.

  “Worse,” I continued, “I’m not so sure that your anticipation of events is correct. Sure, I can terrorize a small town, maybe even a city. Do you think the peasants will scream and dither and declare war on their Church? Or will they flock to it like frightened sheep into a barn during a storm? Then I’m going to have to deal with rioting mobs with pitchforks and torches screaming for my blood.

  “What you really want me to do is break the Church for you, not weaken it. If you can’t do it, what makes you think I can?”

  Sure, I was going to try and break this religion; I didn’t have a choice about it. Hopefully, he and his cronies would see the wisdom of working with me—but I wasn’t about to ask.

  He looked thoughtful for a long time, fingers tapping idly on his staff. Shada was silent, watching us both.

  “There is something to what you say,” he admitted, at last. “I must think on this more.”

  “I think so.”

  “May I come and speak with you again? I do apologize for the discourtesy of tracing you down; it was the only way to reach you.”

  “I accept your apology on the condition that you tell me how you did it.”

  “Nothing easier. The fountain that you stole. Excellent work, by the by. I worked a spell to trace its whereabouts; sure, and it led me to you. I cannot so much as see you in a crystal, even when I have found your place. Thus I came to brace you in person, else I would have merely sent a seeming in my stead.”

  I nodded. That anti-spell spell was working better than I’d hoped. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t all that surprising—I’d invented it on the spot and had no idea how effective it would be in the first place, so any effect at all was a good thing.

  “Good thinking. How common is this idea? Who else knows?”

  “Knows? I’ve shared the idea with no one, but there are others who will think of it.” He looked worried. “You aren’t… you won’t kill me, will you?”

  “Not at all. You’ve been quite civil. Of course, if I find that you’re just stalling me here to give others time to arrive, I’ll be sure to kill you first. But I think you are what you say you are: no friend to the Hand.”

  He nodded. I looked at him with my nighteyes and could see the spirit within him. It was a colorful thing, very bright with the colors of magic and swirling strangely, but I did not see anything within his soul that said he was lying. I might be mistaken—I’m too new at this to tell for certain—but he looked okay to me.

  Then again, he could have an illusion spell that made me think I saw his heart. I just don’t know.

  “I am not their friend. There are some few of us that oppose the Church for our own interests,” he assured me.

  “All right. I want you to help me to help you.”

  “Name your terms,” he replied.

  “The Hand employs magicians, right?”

  “Yes, perhaps a dozen or so. Mostly to open the door of shadows and to seek out your kind. The Church may not like us, but they recognize our necessity in that quest.”

  “Good to know. All right, I want you to interfere with them. Make decoys to keep me from being found. Block their seeking spells. Hell, kick them in their crystal balls if you can. Make life difficult for them. You don’t have to be obvious about it, but it would be a very bad thing if they pinpointed me and dropped a doorway in my lap some morning.”

  “The door does have that capacity,” he replied, absently. He seemed thoughtful. “I think that can be done. We cannot risk exposure, but we can cause them some trouble in finding you. Yes, I think we can do that. So you will ally with us?”

  “Consider me to be a friendly power with a common enemy. I may or may not agree to your plans, but I will listen to your proposals when you have some.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. I look forward to many profitable ventures with you.”

  “No problem.”

  He rose. “Then, with your permission?”

  “Hold it. Suppose I want to reach you? Do you really want me to run a trace on you?”

  He paled. “No, certainly not. It, ah… it could in turn be traced.”

  “Then relax and hold still. I promise not to hurt you.”

  He paled further. “What are you going to do?” he whispered. His hands tightened on his staff.

  “I am going to look at you. Intently. I am going to see you, without touching you, and remember you well enough to imprint your essence on a bird. Then I can send the bird somewhere to seek you out with a message.”

  At least, I thought to myself, I think I can. But I didn’t say that aloud.

  He was sweating.

  “You … you won’t… ?”

  “I won’t. You’ll be fine. I promise you that.”

  Shada spoke up, then. “He does have his own honor, magician. If he gives his word, I would trust it. You have given him no reason to harm you.”

  “But how do I know that?” he asked.

  “I am still alive,” Shada answered.

  He looked dubious, but nodded. “I will do as you ask, but I would have some security in return.”

  “What do you mean?” I could understand his hesitation, but I don’t like it when people don’t trust me.

  “Legends of the power of nightlords speak of their ability to look beyond the flesh. You will look into my soul in this working. Is that not so?”

  “I suppose it is,” I admitted.

  “Then I would have a drop of your blood in exchange.”

  I thought about it.

  “What do you want with it?” I asked.

  “I will have it as security,” he replied. “If you use the knowledge you gain against me, I will have a means to both defend myself and retaliate.”

  “And what sort of retaliation do you envision?” I asked, not liking the prospect.

  “I could send a spell back along the connection of any spell you send at me.”

  “My main worry is spreading,” I admitted. “I don’t want nightlords crawling all over the landscape.” I doubted that one drop would be enough to cause the change. According to the notes and Sasha’s description of the process, it involved drinking a lot of blood. An injection would do it, but I doubted anyone around here had a hypodermic, or even knew what one was.

  “Believe you this: I would be much distraught if such a thing came to be!”

  “Will you be able to find me with that drop of blood?” That was also a worry, but it wasn’t as important as keeping my condition from spreading. He shook his head.

  “I doubt it strongly. I’ve seen your spell now, and it is fundamentally troublesome. I would have to break the spell first, and for that I must needs be close enough to reach it. I would have to find you before your spell could be broken.”

  “All right, I guess it’s a fair trade.” Or as close as I would get, and I did like the idea of having someone I could call up and ask questions of. Besides, if I didn’t extend a little trust, I’d never find any sort of allies, to say nothing of friends. Everything involves some level of risk. This seemed small enough.

  He rummaged through pouches and pockets before finally dumping the contents of a small glass vial. He presented it to me and I pressed my thumb to a fang. I handed the vial back.

  “One drop, as requested.”

  He nodded, stoppered it, and put it away.

  “Look, then.”

  So I looked at him. I ran tendrils of power over and around him, learning him thoroughly. Here was the boy that worked the bellows. Here was the young man who sang to the metal as he forged it. Here was the uncertain fellow learning letters and numbers. Here was the apprentice magician who moved his lips when reading. Here was the delver in the deep places of the earth, seeking power. Here was the man, speaking in the language the gods used in the creation of the world.

  All through him there was the feeling of both great age and youthful vitality, as though he were an old steam locomotive with a new
oil-burning firebox. It looked strange, but effective. He was alive and vital, with a great deal of power tucked away inside.

  “I know you,” I said. He just looked at me.

  “That is all?” he asked, glancing down at himself.

  “Yes, that’s all. All I did was look at you. What city should I send a bird to?”

  “Have it seek me in Arondel. If not there, then Carrillon.”

  “If I have any reason to, I will.”

  “Thank you, lord. Good even to you.” He rose and bowed slightly to me, then to Shada. “And to you, madam.”

  I watched the magician walk off into the darkness. When he left the light of the fire, I saw him move more quickly, pause, then draw on the ground with his staff—a circle about himself with wavy external lines off to the southwest. Then he walked out of the circle in the direction of he lines… and vanished.

  I investigated, of course. I could almost taste the residues of a spell in the air. I examined the ground with a sharp eye, noting some symbols he had obviously drawn earlier, as well as the faint smell of animal fluids of some sort. I wondered what the thing was that had provided the fluids; it was a bitter, acrid smell and reminded me of solvent. I had no idea what the spell might have been, but it obviously had something to do with transportation. Maybe a teleportation spell, or some sort of spacewarp.

  I wonder what they call it.

  Shada and I packed up and moved again. I wove a spell much like the one that protected me from detection around Shada and around Bronze. It was obviously working if he had found it necessary to trace my horse. With a little luck, nobody else would even try that tactic. Without luck… well, you hope for the best and plan for the worst.

  We spent the day traveling along the road; Shada was uncertain as to our location, but we had the mountains on our left and the road running southward. I can’t say we were lost, exactly, but we were a little geographically obscure.

  We reached a road and followed it south. It wasn’t long until we came to a place where a river—the Caladar, I think she called it—crossed it; there was a bridge over the water and a small gatehouse beside it on each side. The river wasn’t too big at this point, since it had apparently only just come down out of the mountains; I was told it would gather up some tributaries along the way to the southern sea. It was still pretty deep and fast, though, and I didn’t relish it at all. I don’t swim, and Bronze sinks faster than I do.