Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  These are the things I want. Seek.

  “Show me.”

  Snowcapped peaks and rocky wastes flickered in its surface. My own image dimmed and was gone, leaving only flashes of scenery like a badly-spliced film.

  “Show me.”

  Smaller mountains, backed by vast plains, overlapped in images that rippled and swirled in the metal.

  “Show me.”

  The storm of images slowed, hesitated, settled to stillness. A mountain, right at the edge of the Eastrange, with its toes digging into the soil of the plains, made itself clear.

  “You,” I told it, “are going to be my home.”

  I fixed the look of it in my mind’s eye and sent a tendril of power out, into the mirror, and touched the cold, naked rock. That was my link. I held the mountain with that tendril, gripped it hard, and closed the spell on the mirror. Like a whip, the tendril flicked to the side, twanging in my whole body like a plucked harp string.

  That was my path. That tendril, wrapped around the mountain, would be my guide.

  I went to find Raeth and Bouger; they were with Tamara, still sorting out what we needed. I guess a woman who jumps on a horse in the dead of night and travels a thousand miles or more with the clothes on her back might need a lot of stuff. They greeted me, and I kissed Tamara.

  “I’m off to find a place for us,” I said. “I think I know where we’re going, but I have to look it over first.”

  Bouger glanced involuntarily at the courtyard—and, invisible through the walls, the stables.

  “I suppose,” Raeth said, “that is wise; you will find a place for your manor and there shall we build it.”

  “You will come back, will you not?” Tamara asked. “We won’t be… traveling alone?”

  “I will. But while I am gone,” I added, looking at Raeth and Bouger, “I trust these two will keep you as safe as a babe in its mother’s arms.” They saluted. Bless them. “Then I’m off to hunt for land.”

  Tamara kissed my cheek, and I grinned like an idiot. Oh, yeah; I like her.

  Bronze was happy to see me again. I stroked her nose and smiled before I mounted up. She pranced out of the stable, stepping high. People saluted or pointed or just stared. I forgot most of the people here hadn’t actually seen my horse, just heard about her.

  Bronze ate it up. Well, she was magnificent and she knew it. I couldn’t blame her.

  Outside the keep, we headed south out of sight, then east. I didn’t want anyone to have a clue where we’d gone, so if all they knew was that we headed south, so much the better. I’d have headed north, but nobody would buy that; people would know it was a false direction. Besides, the river would be a pain to re-cross.

  So it was southward first, then eastward, straight to the mountains. And right up into them.

  Bronze can leap like a maniac on a motorcycle. I can play with gravity, both the angle of it and the force. Between the two of us, the only thing that could give us more than momentary difficulty was a sheer cliff face—and there were a few. We had to go around them. It made me wish I knew how to fly; it’s a spell I just can’t seem to figure out.

  Altering the force of gravity is one thing, but negating it or reversing it… I just don’t see how to do that. The amount of energy put into an anti-gravity spell varies roughly on the square with the fraction of gravity reduced for a given area. Turning gravity to zero or negative would be expensive or impossible. I’m sure there’s a practical way to do it; I’ve seen a flying carpet! It’s just the how of it escapes me. There has to be something more to it besides just manipulating gravity—or my method of it. I’ll have to think outside the box before I solve it.

  Still, even with the occasional cliff face, it was only a little past midnight before we gained the far side of the Eastrange and the plains below. I thrummed the strand that marked my destination, chimed it in Bronze’s ear, and she tossed her head to tell me she would follow it. We streaked south along the edge of the mountain range like a locomotive. Even so, it was nearly morning before we arrived.

  Up close, the mountain looked more forbidding than I’d thought. The whole Eastrange reminds me of the edge of a big plate, tilted up at an angle, the thickness of the plate forming the height of the mountains—except the plate is broken into many pieces. It makes for unpleasant slopes and difficult climbs. But this mountain was on the eastern edge of the whole range, a major pain in the kiester to reach from the western side—which suited me fine. Some work in the mountains to the west would make them much harder to get through… yes, good plan…

  Manor house. Maybe. But if I had my druthers, I’d build a wall all the way around the upper slopes and call it an estate. Or a campus.

  I looked it over, trudging up and down near the peak, and worked my way down. It had snow on it, but it wasn’t the permanent thing elsewhere, just a product of winter; trees marched all the way up to the peak. We were south of Eastgate, so it was warmer, and the lower snows had already melted. There was a cave, without an occupant, and elsewhere a spring poured water out of one face of rock. The mountains all around were covered in trees where they weren’t bare stone, and the trees gave way to grasslands not far from the foot of my mountain.

  My mountain. I like the sound of that.

  How will this be different from a fortress in my own world? I once fortified a house and it was not enough. But in that case, they knew where we were and came loaded for us. Here, with luck, I might avoid detection. If no one sent a bird out this far to look for me. If no one breached my spells. If, if, if.

  I heard a whisper on the wind. Or was it just in my mind?

  A goddess of knowledge chooses to whom she will grant it.

  Fair enough. I’d make the mountain mine. But first, the cave. Sunrise was coming.

  I explored it more thoroughly while I was waiting for the sun to come up; it was really a series of caverns interconnected by cracks. It was deep, deeper than I could search easily. It might work out to widen and shape the open areas into living chambers, at least as a start. If it’s good enough for Norad…

  And we might need a bomb shelter.

  During the day, I mapped the mountain more thoroughly, planned out what to cut, where to build, and how to lay things out. I wanted a university; eventually it would happen. Right now, it would be a school with housing.

  A very defensible school, to be sure.

  Likewise, I got out my crystal and checked in with Tamara and Raeth. Raeth was leading a pack mule, but didn’t feel me watching. Tamara, though, sat on a horse of her own and looked up at me when I regarded her.

  “Hello,” I offered. She smiled and waved silently, then turned to explain to Raeth. I wondered where they were; it was obvious they’d gotten under way, but these crystal balls aren’t exactly optical-grade lenses. The mirror, sadly, was too large to lug around; I’d left it behind in the baggage. Tamara blew me a kiss and I grinned.

  “I think I found a good spot,” I told her, wishing I could hear through the crystal. “I’ll be here a day or three, then I’ll be back.” She nodded and turned to speak to Raeth again. I could see him laugh aloud and made a thumbs-up gesture I’d used; they didn’t use it over here, but he’d gathered its meaning.

  “I’m off,” I said, then closed the ball down.

  It was going to be a lot of work to rearrange a mountain. The sooner I started…

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 20TH

  I’ve been busy the last couple days and nights, and will likely be busier. I have managed a great deal through experimentation and improvisation and a moderate amount of luck.

  First of all, I’ve learned something very important. Ground isn’t dead.

  Okay, it’s not alive like a dog is alive, or even a plant, but it’s not dead, either. Just a lot slower. So I’ve started rearranging the mountain magically. Not by the brute force methods of power shovel and dump truck, but by asking it to rearrange itself.

  Ever had something—a car, perhaps—that was cantankerous and grouchy a
nd tended to bite whenever you picked up a socket wrench? One that made noises just to worry you, but would purr quietly whenever a mechanic was around?

  This was like that. Except I was the mechanic.

  I’d started by trying to figure out how to undercut some slopes to cause earth to fall away from the rocky portions—and fall somewhere handy so I wouldn’t have too far to move it to build an access ramp. I spent a nasty day fighting with gravity, soil, and tree roots before I gave up on it. I may have the strength of ten because my heart isn’t purely human, but I’m not a construction crew, not even with magic. I tried something less direct and more like judo; I tried making the ground slowly flow into shape instead of blasting it and moving it. That worked a lot better. So much better I got suspicious.

  That night, I touched the mountain and sent flickering tendrils down through it to get a feel for it.

  It might not be aware, and it might not be entirely organic, but it’s alive all right.

  You can’t see it happen. It doesn’t move fast enough to be seen. But after a night and a day, little changes are there. It’s subtle; earth is moving, almost creeping, trees, shrubs, and all. It’s like the rock of the mountain is a man and the earth over it is the blanket. Just a very, very slow man.

  So I tried a spell to make him roll over in his sleep, if you follow the metaphor. It works, if really, really slowly. It’s still a hundred thousand times faster than any natural process. I’m happy.

  Now I’m working on walls and passages and such. I tried using Firebrand for a cutting tool; it can blaze hot enough to cut through stone faster than a buzz saw through a board, but hauling blocks back up a passage to the surface is hard work—and me without a rope or horsecollar for Bronze! But, again, if you ask the stone to change a little—and this required some persuasion—it will alter, slowly, to match what you want. So the underground passages are expanding and reshaping. I like this.

  I get the feeling the mountain likes me. That’s fair, I guess; I like it.

  Looking the place over during the day, I can already see the beginnings of a wall—well, a ridge—all the way around the mountaintop, like a crown under a quilt. It should break through the dirt and sprout up as ramparts. I wonder if anyone’s ever grown a stone wall before?

  The only thing that worries me is how hungry I’ll get before it’s done. That, and how long it will take. So far, so good; armies and dragons make great meals. I’m not even peckish, but I’ve invested a terrible amount of power in this working over the past days and nights. Enchanting statues is much easier. I wonder how long it will be before I get hungry again. Then again, I haven’t felt like I was high and flying on a power rush, either. Maybe I burned out my ability to feel that, along with my sense of taste.

  I’ve also been giving some thought to who I want to have in my school. Ideally, I’d like people who really want to learn something, people with an innate curiosity and the gumption to work to find things out. I’m not in this for the money, obviously, so I’d better have people I’ll enjoy working with.

  Why shouldn’t I shoot for an ideal? I can craft a Calling; Jon taught me that. Why not get the best? But do I want a bunch of people pulling a Close Encounters move and drawing attention here? No, probably not; they should head somewhere else, then get brought here.

  I’ve got the mountain-moving well under way; the spell will keep on chugging toward the form I pictured without my helping it. There might even be enough power in there to finish the job; I have no way to tell. Like most wizards, “I’ve never done this before.” Tomorrow I’ll leave it running and head back to Tamara, Raeth, and Bouger.

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 21ST

  I decided to take a detour south to check in with the sea-people. They’re well, and they’ve got the hang of fire!

  In the shallows, they have a forge. The chimney goes up into the air while another a lot like it feeds air to the fires. Magic keeps the water out and the heat in; they may not be too imaginative, but they do pretty good at problem-solving anyway.

  They were glad to see me, too. They wanted to have a celebration, but I didn’t really have the time. Instead, they loaded me up with the pretty things—mainly gold ornaments and gemstones; it’s remarkable what goes down with a ship—and thanked me for showing/explaining/giving them fire. And, of course, metal. I did take the time to explain some things about smelting, but I have faith they’ll get a lot better just by experimenting with it.

  I also opened my mouth on the subject of glass. They know what it is; there’s obsidian to be found near some underwater volcanic vents. But it’s expensive to them; it’s dangerous to go near places where the pressure won’t let the water boil, and the glass only rarely forms there. On the other hand, if you can make your own, you can get a lot more of it a lot cheaper. They started humming together and thinking about it.

  I sounded them out lightly on the idea of breathing air for a while; students are where you find them, and their talent for group magic would be something to study. Mostly, they didn’t understand. The few who did seem intrigued, but not terribly enthusiastic—rather like driving past a road accident; it’s interesting, but you don’t want to be part of it. Ah, well.

  Much enriched—gold is just ballast to them, and gems are generally too small to be cutting tools—I headed back up, bearing left and westward around the undersea decline of the Eastrange.

  There were a couple of things I had to do in Baret.

  Bronze I left outside of town to wait for me and to act as a reserve; I didn’t anticipate a lot of trouble, but it never hurts to be careful. Then I camouflaged myself with a couple of spells and jumped the outer wall. It was a lot easier than I’d anticipated; I overshot and nearly landed in a house. Again. I have got to watch that; it’s a bad habit, as well as rude.

  The first thing to do was make my way to the Baron’s. At night, this is no great trick. Not for me. Nobody wanted to see me, and the few who might have taken an active interest were more concerned with other matters—like what a fine night it was, or how to get in out of the cold.

  Invisibility is one thing; making people not notice is easier. Sometimes that spell makes me uneasy, though. It’s like fiddling with people’s minds. I’d rather rely on stealth and camouflage.

  I made my way into the place and hunted around for a while; the Baron was still up when I knocked on his door. He growled a “Come in!” I dropped my spells (all except my coloration control) and in I went.

  The Baron was just as I remembered him. Stocky, fit, blunt; he did not bother to rise from the chair by the fire. He glowered at me for a moment, then snorted.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” he offered.

  “I didn’t expect you to see me again, either,” I replied.

  We looked at each other for a few moments.

  “All right,” he said, breaking the silence, “what do you want? You came here for something.”

  “I just wanted to let you know how things are going on the northern front.”

  His mask of blustering indifference cracked. He leaned forward and his hands clasped together. “Yes?”

  I stepped close to the fire and gestured toward the other chair. He nodded curtly and reached for his wine cup.

  “It went well,” I said, seating myself. “The viksagi arranged to have the keep’s cistern poisoned and the barracks sealed and burned. It was pretty effective, actually. Things were looking grim.”

  “This is how you describe ‘went well’?” he asked.

  “Considering it finished with them running hell-for-leather with the loss of at least a third of their forces, all their wizards, and the dragon they’d charmed, yes.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “This is news. I hadn’t heard so much. Were you there, or did you see it in a mirror?”

  “I was there,” I admitted. “But that’s not really what I wanted to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Peldar was there. Probably still is there. He was one
of the ones poisoned, but he lived through it.”

  The baron sagged, just slightly, in relief.

  “That is… good to know,” he admitted. “I take it that you ministered to him?”

  “I was in no condition to,” I admitted in turn. “The local fire-witch had to.”

  “They have another fire-witch up there?” he asked, surprised.

  “No, my horse fetched the local one, from here.”

  “Ah. Then I owe her. Would this have anything to do with the new northern road that’s been burned across the kingdom?”

  I would have blushed if I could have.

  “Um. Yes.”

  “I thought you might have something to do with it.”

  I stood up. “Yes, well, it wasn’t something I’d intended. I wanted to let you know things were going well up north and that Peldar survived.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s pretty much it, yes. I was passing by and thought you’d want to know.”

  “Why did you bother? I cannot think that you feel you owe me anything.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, actually, I do, sort of. You gave me a job and a place when I was a wanderer. You made me a court wizard when I wasn’t much of anything at the time. And… well… it’s recently come to my attention that a father takes an interest in his children. So…” I trailed off.

  He nodded. “Very well. Thank you.”

  I hesitated. “Ah… I also wanted to mention I’m sorry I had to leave like that.”

  “I knew it. I apologize for my bastard half-brother, and I am sorry the priests were so rude as to use your own glass against you.”

  “Well, I did kill him for it, so I’ll forget it if you will. And as for the glass, it’s not your fault. I built the thing.”

  “True. But I apologize nonetheless.”

  “Then, can we be mutually forgiven?”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  I looked him over, taking a good look at his spirit. But I already suspected what I found.

  “You’re a good man, baron.”