Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  I glared around the wagon at all three of them. I realized I was shaking. I calmed myself and took a slow breath.

  “If I stay here, I’ll draw fire here. Sooner or later, he’ll come for me, or send an army of minions. If I go to him, he won’t be expecting that. He won’t be looking for that. He thinks I’m running and hiding. Both Tobias and the Devourer think so. And the demon is the one we really have to fool.”

  Tamara laid one hand on my arm. “My lord, hear me. I do not fear for myself, but I fear for both my babes and for you. How much more dangerous is the serpent when you reach within its lair? How much more dangerous the cat when you come within reach of its claws? Stay, I beg of you. At least here you may defend the things you love, and we may live or die with you.”

  I covered her hand and looked at her. It hurt my heart to have to say it.

  “I can’t. I would, but I’ve tried that route already. If all I do is stand and take it, then he will win. Someday. Eventually. I must attack. I see that now.”

  Raeth and Bouger both sighed; they were too good at warfare to disagree with that.

  “The secret of victory lies in attack,” Raeth agreed, “but any who neglect their defenses will not attack for long. You will take all precautions, my lord.” It wasn’t a question. I didn’t mind.

  “You bet!” I declared. “I intend to spend a lot of time right here in this wagon, pumping power into spells and getting ready for a major battle. When I feel I’m ready, then I’ll go visit. Not a minute sooner.”

  “If you insist,” Raeth said, trying to sound less than gloomy. “I will take all care while you are flitting hither and yon.”

  “Good. I’m trusting you with something more precious than my own life.”

  He saluted. “I will not disappoint you.”

  “On that note, gentlemen, please excuse us; Tamara wants to talk to me.”

  Raeth and Bouger blinked, looked at me, looked at each other, then bowed and left. Tamara quirked an unwilling smile.

  “Am I so obvious to you?” she asked. I scooted closer and snuggled up against her; she held on to me and nuzzled against my neck and shoulder.

  “Not at all. If our positions were reversed, I know I’d want to talk to you. I wouldn’t want you to go.”

  “As you say,” she agreed. “Can I not persuade you to abandon this plan and yet remain?”

  “Honey, I don’t see that I have any options. I don’t want to do this; I think I have to do this. I’ve always been worried about being found. If I stay in one spot for too long, something is going to show up and try to kill me—and maybe kill people around me. I like the people around me too much to let that happen, so the source of the problem has to go away.”

  Her only answer was to sigh into my shirt and squeeze harder.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16TH

  There’s not much to be done in preparation when it’s dark. I can’t prepare spells for later, for example, and I don’t have to sharpen my sword. What I can do, however, is spend time with Tamara. She’s nervous and scared and worried—and so am I. It’s good for us to hold on to each other.

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17TH

  I spent a little time out and about tonight, looking for a deer. I don’t think the Huntsman would be too pleased if all I gave him were squirrels. I found one and bled it out for him; I got the feeling I was being watched.

  Oh, yes; I’ll remember this every month. How often do you know a deity is paying attention?

  After that, I went back to our latest camp. We’re pushing right along. I’m told we’ll hit a major city soon, then head east. Allowing for my little hiatus to recuperate, we’re doing well for a bunch of footsloggers and bulky wagons. I still think I’ll be getting a few more horses when we reach Hagan; Raeth tells me we can get some good deals there.

  My spells are coming along nicely; a staff isn’t the only thing you can put a spell into. I have a nice stroke of lightning sitting in my dagger. I think I’ll work with Firebrand later today and see if we can work out something to pump up its ability to play flamethrower.

  About my earlier note on using Firebrand as a flamethrower… the spell works really well.

  Safety tip: Never test-fire a magical flamethrower without a fire-witch at hand. Tamara is very good at putting fires out, too.

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 22ND

  My spell arsenal is coming along nicely. I have prepared a collection of spells and have a new appreciation for being a mortal mage. If I could throw a spell at night, I’d have been able to draw a little power from all the people around me, even the animals and the larger plants. The spells now embedded in various items on my person would have taken one night, two at the most.

  I have quite a collection of pretty rocks, though. I understand from my lessons with Jon that a wizard can cram a lot of spells into a staff mainly because a staff can be ornamented. Bits of bone on a leather thong, feathers hanging from a string, a stone mounted in the wood—each of these can hold a different spell, along with the wood of the staff itself. Me, I just have a pocket full of pebbles keyed to go off when I say certain words—in English, for safety.

  I’m pretty sure these will come in handy. And I am beat; binding a spell for later is more tiring than just setting it off. I manage to add one more spell every day—usually. I’m taking today off to rest up; sometime tomorrow we should hit Hagan. I’d like to be fresh for it.

  The villages have grown larger as we’ve approached, and the last one was really a town—a place called Rivenmire. I can see why; the place has a swamp to the north and to the south—it’s the only sizable piece of high ground for miles.

  We’re far enough south it doesn’t always freeze at night, and we don’t have much snow on the ground. The season hasn’t turned yet, but it almost feels like it.

  Anyway, I’m going to go nuzzle with Tamara for a bit, then I’m going to sleep the rest of the day, I think.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 23RD

  We made it to Hagen early this afternoon. I think I like the place, aside from the smell. They need a good river to flood the streets and wash away the muck. Speaking of the streets, they’re pretty good; not a dirt road that I saw anywhere inside the walls. And moderately wide, too; the wagons didn’t cause traffic jams when we drove through town.

  I went with the sergeants, Caedwyl and Caeron, to find some horses. The two of them need to dress differently; I can’t tell them apart during the day. But they make a hell of a bargaining team. They confuse the haggler and keep him distracted by double-teaming him. They have practice at it, I gather.

  We got a fair deal for the horses, I think. We needed at least one; a frozen irregularity of ground had managed to lame one of ours. Instead, we got eight, enough to rotate through the wagons and speed things up a little. But the haggling went on forever; they kept finding something wrong with this horse or that horse. I felt like I was on a used car lot. It was late in the afternoon when we got back to the group.

  Which had grown.

  Raeth had been busy. He sent everyone out to go hunt down tradespeople from a lengthy list—coopers and carpenters, millers and miners, farriers and farmers. And with everyone going out to hunt for them, he simply sat down and waited to interview prospective applicants. There were at least three dozen hopefuls waiting when I showed up again.

  Raeth came to his feet and saluted, all crisp, military efficiency. “Lord!”

  I returned his salute and tried to look like I knew what I was doing. I wish he’d tell me these things in advance. I think he does things like this just to keep me on my toes.

  “How goes it?” I asked him.

  “Well enough, lord. I have several persons of skill who are willing to be hired into your service. Would you care to inspect them?”

  “I would, indeed, as soon as I take care of a small matter.” I nodded toward the wagon I’d been living in.

  “Of course, lord.”

  I went inside, cast my curiosity-radar spell, and stepped back outside to ping the g
roup of applicants.

  Three glowed. Total. I pointed them out and Raeth called them over—by name, from memory—and we hired them on the spot. One journeyman mason, one cooper, and a tanner. Three very nice professions to have along for a trek outside the borders of civilization. Raeth handed them over to Bouger for some explanation and more orientation.

  “Raeth?” I said, before he could go with them.

  “Yes, lord?” he replied, much less ostentatiously.

  “Next time you have a bright idea…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me before you do it, okay? I liked this one; I’d have gone with it. But I hate stepping hip-deep into things without warning.”

  “As you say,” he agreed, grinning. “I thought you liked surprises?”

  “Fried apples for breakfast is a surprise. Honey for my tea is a surprise. Looking like an idiot because I don’t know what you’re up to—that’s a bother.”

  “I understand, my lord,” he answered. He saluted. I returned it and made a face. He grinned again.

  “I’m off to wander around and see who else would fit in with us. Is everything well in hand?”

  “Yes. We’ve found a roadhouse with a yard, just outside the walls. It can accommodate our wagons and beasts. I believe it is the Pig and Pony, outside the north gate.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in an hour or so,” I said, glancing at the sun. “I’ll want a room.”

  He nodded. “I understand. You’ll have one.”

  I wandered off through the streets of Hagan, occasionally sending out a Calling pulse to see who registered. It was a while before I saw anyone take on a magical glow.

  When I did, it was a boy no older than eight or nine. He was dressed—if that’s the word—in a thick collection of castoff garments that looked warm, if not clean. He was watching a street vendor hawk wooden spits of roasted meat from a cart. When the pulse bounced from him, he looked around, as though seeking something he’d dropped, and his eyes fixed on me.

  I ignored him and walked over to the vendor. Each stick held half a dozen small, thick strips of meat about the size of my first two fingers together. I bought two sticks and looked around for a spot to sit and eat them. I found a low section of stone wall from a former building; it looked solid enough, so I parked myself and started in on one stick.

  My prospective student edged around toward me, trying to stay unnoticed. He would have done it, too, except I’d already noticed him. I put the spare shish-ka-bob down by wedging the end between two stones so it stuck up into the air.

  Bait.

  While I worked on the first one, he slithered around, out of my line of sight. I figured he was hungry. Maybe hungry enough to steal dinner. I heard his breathing when he got close. I could imagine his hand, reaching out, about to snatch the meat and run for it…

  “If you ask politely, I won’t even chase you,” I said.

  The breathing stopped.

  “I’m not kidding,” I continued, not turning around. “Ask politely and you can not only have it, but I might even offer you a job.”

  The city didn’t stop around us; people kept going by, the occasional cart went clattering past, and the hubbub you get whenever people crowd themselves together was omnipresent. For the moment, the world was only myself and a young, hungry boy.

  “What job?” he asked.

  I still didn’t turn. “Room, board, new clothes, a silver a month, and the opportunity to find out why the sky is blue, how birds fly, and what color magic is. Or you can just have the meat and be on your way. I’d still rather you asked, if you don’t mind.”

  I can only imagine what he was thinking. He was curious by nature; he had to be or the spell wouldn’t have sensed him.

  “Can I have the meat?”

  “Be my guest. Have a seat and we’ll talk while we eat; I think I’ll be getting another one.”

  My peripheral vision noticed the bait vanished. I wanted to turn and see if he’d vanished with it, but I didn’t. It was a hard thing; I’m curious, myself. Instead, I got up and headed to the vendor to get another stick.

  On the way back, I saw he was on the far side of the wall, watching me and chewing vigorously. I smiled and resumed my seat.

  “Want a hot one?” I asked, holding the stick out at arm’s length. “Just the one off the end; I intend to eat the rest.”

  He looked at me, gauged the distance, and then delicately pulled the end piece off. It was still steaming and juicy. He ate it with relish. I sat down on the wall again and nibbled. We stayed that way for several minutes, just munching our dinner. I wondered what it was, then decided it was probably better not to know. Meat was usually pretty scarce in a city, and the guy was selling it from a cart in the street, like a hot-dog vendor. Sadly, I have some idea what gets put into hot dogs.

  The kid ate about half of his. I held mine out again. “One more of the warm ones, if you like.”

  He accepted by taking it neatly off the stick. Then he moved down the wall a bit, climbed up on it, and sat down facing me.

  “What did you mean when you said I could have a job?” he asked.

  “I meant that. You could be hired by me. I could use a squire.”

  He nearly choked. “A squire?” he yelped.

  “Yes. Or an apprentice. I’m a wizard and a knight, both. If you have talent for both, you could be, too.”

  He stared at me as if I was crazy.

  “Nobody’s a wizard and a knight,” he said, confident of the Truth the way only the very young, very old, or very foolish can be.

  I held an end of the stick in both hands, concentrated, and let go. It hovered there, slowly turned over, end-for-end, and I took hold of it with my hands again. Oh yes, I was definitely getting better at this trick.

  “I’m not demonstrating swordwork just for your amusement,” I said. “The tunic, sword, and sash should be enough, don’t you think?”

  “Holy crap,” he breathed. That’s not a direct translation; the expression doesn’t translate well—kind of like the French “sacre bleu.” Saying “sacred blue” doesn’t mean much to most people. But “holy crap” gets the gist of it across.

  “Want to see it again?” I asked.

  “Yes!”

  So I did it again.

  “That’s one trick,” I offered. “If you can’t learn it, I’m sure there’s something you can. You also get clothes to wear and at least one hot meal a day. If you want the job.”

  By God, the kid thought about it!

  “What do I have to do?” he asked.

  “Learn everything you can. Practice what you learn. Drive a wagon. Brush down a horse. Fetch water. Chop firewood. The usual.”

  “What if I don’t like it?”

  “You can keep the clothes when you go.”

  He stared at me. “You mean it?”

  “Want to find a tailor? I haven’t got all evening.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll do it.”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  He hesitated, bit his lip, and looked me over. I finished my second helping of roasted whatever and used the edge of my cloak as a napkin.

  “Well?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  I chuckled and let him think.

  “Can I come back and tell you?” he asked.

  “You have a pressing engagement?” I asked in return.

  He shifted uneasily. “Yeah.”

  “Sure. I’ll be at the Pig and Pony for a little while. If you’re quick, I might let you take me up on it.”

  He worried his lip and looked at me appraisingly.

  “Would… you said you’re a wizard.”

  “Yes.”

  “If I asked you to help me, would you?”

  “Depends on what you want.”

  He shifted again, then climbed down from the wall, leaned on it.

  “I can’t pay you yet.”

  “I figured. Why not tell me what you need, then I can tell you if I’ll do it?”
/>   He took a breath and told me in a rush. “I have a friend who’s sick.”

  “Oh, is that all,” I said, smiling. “I fix people all the time.”

  “You do?” he asked, surprised.

  “Sure. I used to be the court wizard to Baron Baret. Fixing up all the sick and injured in a whole barony really wears you out, let me tell you.”

  He looked skeptical. “You can’t do that. There’d be too many people.”

  I held his gaze and never wavered in my smile. He looked less sure of himself, then doubtful.

  “Show me your friend,” I suggested, “but hurry. I’ve got a date and I don’t intend to miss it.”

  He thought about it some more, then nodded. “Follow me.”

  I followed. It wasn’t a terribly long trip, but it did take me into a less-than-savory area of town. The buildings were considerably more dilapidated and the streets needed some serious attention. Some civic-minded individuals had filled holes in the cobbled street with gravel and rocks and other hard trash, but it was still a bumpy, uneven road.

  The place he took me was nearly falling apart. It was by no means abandoned, but the people living in it were not the sort of folks who like to have their address advertised. When we slithered in through the door—it wouldn’t open more than a foot or so—I found that most of the residents were also armed.

  “Riddle! Who the hell is he?”

  The speaker was an older man. He wore a full beard, graying in streaks, and wore a tattered eyepatch. His garments matched Riddle’s in general quality: rags with stitches.