Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  Hmm.

  Come to think of it, that magician I spoke to may be right: I may not have a real choice but to kill this Cardinal—and I will have to hurt his Church. A lot. Just killing this Tobias… what would it really accomplish? It would get someone from the ranks promoted to the position of Cardinal. Given that the last of the vampires were “cleansed from the world” a long time ago, the Hand apparently has a hunting policy in force… so I have my revenge, uselessly, and a new Cardinal who knows he has to worry about being assassinated by a nightlord.

  Besides, I don’t like the thought that I have to kill someone. I hate being pressured, even if it is just by circumstance.

  It was shortly after sunup when a page pounded on the door to summon me. I’d forgotten about the baron’s instruction regarding arms practice. I muttered under my breath as I went down to the courtyard. A good portion of the house guard was turned out for it. It took me a minute to spot the instructor.

  Davad is about five-foot-two and looks like he’s carved out of wood: Light brown from his tan, brown hair, green eyes, and as hard as teak. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find dryad blood in him. He was also the commander of the house guard, but I found that out later.

  I looked around while he finished giving instructions to a page. It was a chilly morning; I noticed the forest on the slopes of the Eastrange was noticeably changing color. There were also a lot more people coming into town in the afternoons to sell produce. Most of that got shipped out; Baret has a lively merchant fleet.

  By then, Davad was ready to start. We started with some stretching and a few laps around the courtyard wall of the manor. Davad paired us off, and paired himself with me. He grinned widely as we fought with wooden weapons. He was feeling me out, getting to know my style and my moves.

  The baron was good. Davad was better. With the baron, he walked away the victor, but that was about all he could say about it. Davad kicked my butt all over the courtyard.

  I wouldn’t have believed a human being could be that fast. I wouldn’t have believed a human could be that good! Every time I tried to attack, he was there with a parry or already moving out of the way—and, I might add, placing a piece of wood up against my tender skin.

  Unlike the baron, however, he wasn’t swinging or thrusting to hurt me; he was just making contact. Stinging contact, I admit, but it’s not like we had foam rubber. The sting was made worse by the knowledge I had this huge advantage and it wasn’t doing me a bit of good. I’m sure I’m stronger than he is—once, when we locked blades, I shoved and sent him stumbling back. He recovered so fast I couldn’t follow it up and we never locked blades again. Davad owned the fight; I was just thrashing about, flailing at him.

  Well, that’s how it felt, anyway. I had to work at it to keep my temper.

  After about an hour or so, he called a break; we took five and had some thin beer and watered wine.

  “You’ve been taught to fight,” Davad observed.

  “Some.”

  “You fight like someone who hasn’t done it much.”

  “I only fight when I have to.”

  Davad grinned wider than ever. I noticed he was missing a tooth; I hoped it was from a cavity. The idea that someone might have knocked it out was frightening.

  “Good! Because you have the makings of a knight! Damned if I want to think of you fighting for the hell of it.”

  I must have sat there blinking at him for too long. He continued:

  “Oh, yes. You’re strong—damn strong!—and fast, too. The baron says you can take a hit without screaming like a woman. But can you learn?”

  “I learn something new every day. I’m a wizard.”

  “Ha. A wizard with a sword.”

  I think I bristled at him. “Yeah? And?”

  “Wizards,” he said, “pay too much attention.”

  “Huh?”

  “You pay too much attention,” he repeated. “You focus on my blade, on my feet, on my body—you are constantly looking around, trying to think of what to do next.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” I demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “All right, I’ll bite. Why?”

  “You focus on all the little things. You think too much.”

  “I can’t help that—” I began.

  “But you will have to,” he interrupted, sternly. “You must learn to live in the flow of steel. No thought, no hesitation.” He took a deeper swig of his drink. “I don’t know if you can do it.”

  I shrugged. “Now I know what to shoot for.”

  “If you reach that place, you will understand the secret of war.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Oh? War has many secrets.”

  “Hmm,” he said, and eyed me thoughtfully. “You’re not so foolish as that old sack of bones. Maybe I should have said battle, instead; war involves a lot more men.”

  “All right. What’s the secret of battle?”

  “Kill the other guy,” he replied. I laughed. He chuckled. “It sounds simple,” he continued, “and down at the root of it, it is. Just kill the other guy. Every time. Applying it is what most find difficult.”

  “Maybe so. What seems so hard about that?”

  “I can teach you to use that sword of yours. I can teach you to use shield and spear and bow. I can teach you how to sit a horse and couch a lance. But I can’t teach you to kill a man. That you have to learn on your own.” Davad picked up the practice weapon. “Think on that. Say you have the skill to do it—but what you have to do is take a sharpened bar of metal,” he brandished the wooden sword, “walk up to a man,” he stepped over to me, “look him in the eye, then put that bar of metal in his guts.” Davad looked me in the eyes and slowly moved the wooden blade forward, touching my abdomen with the tip.

  I nodded.

  “That could be hard,” I agreed.

  “It gets harder,” he said, sitting down again.

  “How?”

  “Once you’ve learned to do it, it’s even harder to learn to stop.”

  I regarded Davad for a long moment. He met my stare. I’m not sure what I saw there, but it was something old and weary and somewhat saddened by experience. It made me wonder.

  “All right,” he shouted, “break is over! Back to it, boys!”

  I have to admit I learned a lot from Davad. His teaching method was simple: beat me up until I learned the tricks he was using and worked out my own counters for them. I must say I preferred Sasha’s method! But it was effective and fast, I give it that. By noon I was holding him off without seriously worrying about being clobbered, but I was a long, long way from winning.

  During our last bout of the morning, he demonstrated that I hadn’t seen a fraction of his repertoire. He had been using just a few of his practiced moves and combinations; he fought me for real—still with practice weapons—and took every last ounce of pride I had built up and pounded it into dust. Easily. Quickly. Inexorably and inevitably. Over and over, until he knew I knew he was a master swordsman.

  He clapped me on the shoulder—the one he hadn’t bruised as much—and smiled at me.

  “Tomorrow, we will test you with all weapons and teach you those you do not know.”

  “I shudder to ask, but is this how you’ll be teaching me to use a mace, quarterstaff, and battle-axe?”

  He looked puzzled. “There is another way?”

  I groaned.

  “Do not feel so bad,” he said, smiling. “With ten years of hard work, you may be a decent warrior.”

  Feeling much humbled and completely inadequate, I went upstairs to my apartments for lunch and a few small healing magics. Shada met me at the door with a washcloth and fresh clothes.

  “Hurry, please, my lord; the noon meal will be soon.”

  “What’s the rush? I thought I was going to be recovering this afternoon.”

  “The baron’s son has returned from Carrillon, bearing tidings of the kingdom; he will be at the meal, and the baron instructed that you should be there to
greet him.”

  I groaned again; I was feeling beat. Literally.

  “Fine. Give me a moment in my workroom and I’ll be right down.”

  Shada nodded and hurried to finish dressing. I staggered into the workroom and sat down in the magic circle. After a bit of deep breathing and some head-clearing, I pulled myself together. No serious damage; a lot of bruises, several aches, maybe some deep tissue damage in a few places. Appearances could wait; I concentrated on the deep muscle aches and the sharp pain in my hip. These faded away as the spell progressed. They were not healed, but they would not pain me while the spell worked to effect my recovery.

  Good enough. I’d try to take things easy.

  I washed quickly. Shada handed me a towel after I had scrubbed down. Between the two of us, we got me ready in rapid time. I was quite surprised at the clothes; Shada went shopping when I wasn’t watching. I’m not used to velvet or to silver brocade. The shoes felt odd. I’ve grown accustomed to my boots, and I don’t normally wear slippers.

  Firebrand did not go with the outfit. Shada tried to explain to me that it was unusual for a court wizard to bear arms—one of those things Simply Not Done. I tried to explain that this court wizard was going to bear this one. She put her foot down. I put Firebrand on, but I slung it in an over-the-shoulder style; it’s hard to sit in a chair with a sword at my hip. She threw up her hands and gave in. I leaned on my staff and took her hand.

  “What?” she asked, snappishly.

  “I’m sorry I’m about to embarrass you in front of the whole baronial court.”

  She checked her reply just as her mouth opened. After a small pause, she said, “You will not embarrass me.”

  “No? Then why so adamant about Firebrand?”

  She lowered her eyes and muttered something.

  “I didn’t catch that.”

  “I said I’m nervous!”

  “About?”

  “This! I’ve… I don’t know… I haven’t had occasion to dine with nobles. Perform a dance by firelight, sing for their amusement, surely. But…”

  “I haven’t, either. If it’s any comfort, no one will notice any little bobbles you might make.”

  “Oh?” she demanded. “How do you know? Have you some spell?”

  “Not at all. They’ll be too busy wondering why someone as beautiful as you married a clod like me.”

  She blushed. “Oh,” she replied, in a very small voice.

  I have to admit, she was very beautiful. She had a couple of hours’ warning in which to get ready. The dress was mostly velvet and had full skirts; the top was almost all corset and looked like it had taken a servant to help tie up. Her hair was up, with some sort of netting around it and a couple of silvered sticks thrust through it. I don’t know much about ladies’ fashions, but she looked good to me.

  I gathered we were formal.

  We went down to lunch. Shada took my arm when I offered it and I wondered if I would get it back; her grip was vise-tight.

  It turns out we were on time. We were also somewhat overdressed. Nobody had mentioned lunch was going to be business casual. I felt like the one guy in a tuxedo. I can only imagine how Shada felt when she realized. I can’t blame her for overdressing us; I didn’t see anything wrong with the outfits she’d selected until we saw everyone else.

  The baron, however, merely stood and beckoned us across the dining hall—a somewhat smaller chamber than his gymnasium, barely large enough for a tennis court. Of course, everyone else stood up when he did.

  “I do not believe,” he stated, while we approached, “I have had the pleasure of a formal introduction, Halar.”

  “My lord, I present my wife, Shada.”

  Shada curtseyed deeply and the baron inclined his head.

  “It is my pleasure to meet you, dear lady. I trust that you have found the accommodations to your liking?”

  “Everyone and everything has been wonderful, lord,” she replied, rising.

  “Good. Master wizard, this is Sir Peldar, my son.” The baron gestured to the younger man at his right hand. Peldar looked a lot like the baron, just less weathered; he had the same light-brown hair—no sign of the baron’s grey, yet—the same strong jaw, and the same broad shoulders. He might have been twenty, but I doubted it. Eighteen? Nineteen?

  “I am honored to meet you, Sir Peldar,” I offered.

  The kid looked me over. “I have heard much of the wizard that rides a steed of metal and bears arms. Do you desire a knighthood?”

  There were a few quick breaths around the table. I sensed a trick question.

  “What man of common birth does not dream of being a knight?” I asked. “But often dreams are the stuff of fancy and not to be taken seriously. There may come a day when I may prove I have the soul of a knight and so be honored. I do not seek it; honor and glory are not pursuits of the lowborn.”

  The baronet smiled. “Well said, wizard.”

  I suppressed a desire to wipe that smirk off his face. He was just a product of his environment, and his father doubtless taught him contempt for commoners along with how to kick peasants off the road without dirtying his boots. I kept reminding myself of that.

  The baron intervened. “That will be enough for now, son. Be seated, all!”

  Everyone sat. A servant showed us to our places at the table. The baron was seated in the center of one long side of the table. I found, to my surprise, that I was seated at the baron’s left hand. I knew there was no baroness, but I hadn’t expected to be that far up the table. I had a lady on my left, apparently the wife of someone important. Shada was seated across from me, between an empty chair—directly across from the baron—and a ship’s captain. I smiled at her as the captain held her chair.

  Lunch was interesting. The gossip from the capitol was that the old King wouldn’t be lasting much longer, and with no heir to the throne the king would have to declare for one of the Dukes, thus changing the dynasty.

  “We certainly cannot afford a time of division and strife now,” Peldar—okay, okay, Sir Peldar—continued. “The northern border is still in turmoil from the barbarians, and the Kamshasan ambassador is growing arrogant.” He shook his head. “There is talk that the viksagi may be tools of Kamshasa. If they were to take the river, it would be bloody. Yet without a strong King, I suspect the Dukes Jelmon and Hagan might be tempted to provoke civil war even in the face of invasion from north and south.”

  The baron snorted. “Hard luck for them if it is so; I am not their vassal. Duke Brenner is a King’s man.”

  “True, father; possibly the staunchest supporter of the royal line there is. But he is only one man, and not in favor.”

  “Oh?”

  “Truly. His Majesty listens to few enough people, and their numbers diminish. Duke Welton and one of the Cardinals seem to be the only people to whom he pays heed.”

  I restrained myself. My first impulse was to ask “Which Cardinal?” Not good to interrupt.

  “His Majesty will surely do what is right,” the baron replied. There was a murmur of agreement around the table. “He is King.”

  Sir Peldar looked less than pleased. “As you say, father.”

  “What else happens in the wide world?”

  The story ran that the Church had apparently put out an APB on one bloodsucking fiend of evil. A sorcerous nightlord had returned through the shadow door to wreak havoc in Telen, killing half a dozen loyal guardsmen in the Church’s infantry and two magicians before fleeing, smoking and crisping from the priests’ righteous wrath, into the night.

  I don’t remember killing anyone, actually. And no smoking or crisping. I’m sure I’d recall. Apparently, someone was indulging in a bit of creative reporting—or the rumor mill was grinding cheerfully along without regard for fact. As usual.

  The incident also prompted the Hand to declare a hunt was on. The last they could able to tell, the undead fiend was headed toward the City of Bones to raise demonic legions. But everyone was encouraged to hunt down and root
out corruption and evil at home. Local priests were to be especially alert for the influences of evil, just in case. Gata were to be regarded as suspect—potential allies of the fiend.

  Ander was not present at the table; maybe he had other duties. I wondered what he would have to say about it, as well as what he would do.

  Other incidents were minor, to me. Apparently pirates had taken up raiding the southern coastline, ambushing merchantmen by flying the King’s colors and then closing to board and storm. Elsewhere, Sir Peldar had been given a captaincy over a small force of men and would be heading north to the border in a few days to keep out the barbarians. The gossip and miscellany of a kingdom.

  I was munching and thinking, wondering if and how this changed my plans. I had anticipated some pursuit and some hue and cry… did this alter anything? Not really, I decided. Just be ready to drop everything and run if the mob showed up with pitchforks and torches one afternoon. In the meantime, being court wizard to Baret was proving highly educational.

  “I’m sure our wizard can devise some stratagem,” Sir Peldar said, breaking my reverie.

  “Beg pardon, Sir Peldar?” I asked. “I was lost in thought.”

  “Of matters weighty and arcane, no doubt. But here in the world of men, we have practical considerations. Such as that of harbor defenses.”

  “Against?”

  He sighed, obviously exasperated at my complete lack of attention. “Our southern neighbor, Kamshasa. If the war with the northern barbarians flares as hot as feared, they may take advantage as well. How would you repel invaders, wizard? By thinking them to death?”

  “How about burning them, Sir Peldar?”

  “So you would hurl balls of fire upon our enemies? How powerful a wizard are you? You claim to be able to win a war single-handed; perhaps we should send you north to conquer the barbarians!” Sir Peldar laughed. “I am sure it would be quite a spectacle.”

  I already didn’t like this kid. Maybe it was the laughter, or maybe it was the way he tried to twist my words around.