Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  We missed breakfast entirely, but I pried myself away well before lunch. It wasn’t easy, but I lured her with the idea of food and she went for it. While she worked on a quick wash and dressing, I popped downstairs to have something sent up—and to have a word with Raeth, Bouger, and the twins.

  Raeth was supervising the wagon loading; we were packing up to leave. Everyone seemed reasonably cheered at the idea of leaving after lunch. Early-morning moves were wearing on us a bit, I think. I headed his way across the yard and was intercepted by one of the twins.

  I swear, I’m going to tattoo their names on their foreheads. Or make them wear different colors, at least.

  “My lord, the minstrels wish to speak with you at your convenience.”

  “Sure. Where are they?”

  “They are in a room, my lord; Caeron is keeping them company.”

  “Have they been fed?”

  Caedwyl—had to be him if Caeron was inside—snorted. “They are our guests, not so?”

  “Good man. Tell them I’ll be in directly.”

  He saluted and hustled off. I went over to Raeth—who saluted.

  I returned it and stuck out my tongue at him. “How’s the loading?”

  “We shall be ready before lunch; we can pull out as soon as we finish eating.”

  I nodded and looked over at a pile of chains. “Bouger get those for me?”

  Raeth glanced at the metal. “Yes. May I ask what for?”

  “Another delay in departing. I want the wagons rigged with eyebolts in the front before we leave. Come here, I’ll show you.”

  So I did. I wanted an eyebolt mounted on the front of each wagon, embedded deep and strong. I figured to let the chain drag behind Bronze and let wagons latch on to it. I’ve thought Bronze would make a good locomotive. She ought to hasten the whole works along.

  Besides, I wanted to get everyone settled before I went off to my potential doom with Tobias and the Hand. It strikes me as a good idea to have my lover and unborn children off in a place nobody goes and nobody really wants to go.

  We have a few handy folks in our little community, as well as a professional carpenter. We had to buy the eyebolts and they weren’t cheap; nobody had them in quantity. But that was nothing compared to the extra carts I wanted.

  The new ones would be low-slung, about ten feet long, maybe five wide, with minimal springs and thin, comparatively fragile sides; no roof was required. I hired every cartwright in town for the day, paying top dollar, and they surprised me by knocking together the things I wanted well before dark. These would be horse trailers. A rather novel concept for the locals, so I didn’t explain what they were for—I only explained what I wanted.

  More eyebolts for them. I should have planned this better. Next time, I explain everything to Raeth and let him do the organizing. The man is a lot better at it than I am.

  In between the lurching stages of my poorly-arranged plan, I found time for lunch. After lunch, Tamara went to supervise some of the activities—taking care to be inconspicuous; a fire-witch is still something Church officials go ballistic over—while I dropped in on my minstrel guests.

  They were deep in discussion with the twins as I approached their door. I confess I paused outside to listen. The twins were demonstrating their superior grasp of number theory by going over multiplication. I interrupted by just barging straight in. Everyone stood up for me.

  “Good afternoon, Pelom, Belis. I trust you have been comfortable?”

  “We want to go with you!” Belis declared. Right to business. Pelom looked hesitant, then sighed and nodded. I looked from one to the other and back.

  “I take it that there was some debate?”

  “My wife wishes to travel with you,” Pelom agreed. “I am not so fond of it, but will go.”

  “Fair enough. Is that all?”

  “I want to learn magic,” Belis admitted. “I watched your lieutenant light torches with a snap of his fingers! And he is a knight, not a wizard!”

  “Ah, that would be Raeth with Horzun’s Fabulous Firestarter,” I replied. “It’s a useful spell.”

  “Can we learn it?” she asked, eyes dancing.

  “I don’t see why not,” I replied. “It all depends on your talent for it. Everyone has at least a little talent; maybe not enough to be useful, but a little. We can try to teach you. And do sit down, please.”

  They both sat; the twins took up station by the door and waited, still standing.

  “Sir,” Pelom began, “I am just a minstrel with a talent for making wood and gut give forth a pleasing noise. I know little of numbers and less of magic. I am not certain I wish to know so much. But my wife has always been a bit mad—it is the blood of the fae within her, and I love her both for it and despite it. If she wishes to travel with your people and learn more of such things, then I will go with her.”

  I nodded. “I understand. All right. Wait one second.” I cast my curiosity radar spell again, already knowing what I was probably going to find. Belis showed up on it quite well; Pelom didn’t even register.

  Well, I guess it was bound to happen.

  “All right. I’ll take you both. Pelom, if you don’t want to learn things, no one will force it on you. If you do, no one will deny you. Your amusement is entirely up to you—but if you would be so kind as to teach these rascals behind me to sing, I would appreciate it.” I shuddered in mock horror. “They call cadence and it’s like listening to a bunch of panicked cattle.”

  Pelom smiled slightly. “I will do what I may… my lord.”

  “Does that mean I may study wizardry?” Belis asked, just to nail that down.

  “Yes, you may,” I answered. “And thank you, Pelom. Moreover, now that we have that settled, I am going to trust you. Caedwyl, Caeron—that will be all. Unless you’d care to show our two latest friends down to the common room and introduce them to everyone as such?”

  “Our pleasure, lord,” they replied, in unison. Eerie, that.

  “Good. Once that’s done, report to Raeth; he’ll need the help with the cartwrights, I’m sure. These two,” I looked at Pelom and Belis, “will just have to make do on their own for a while.”

  “We’re not to guard them, lord?” one of the twins asked.

  “Why should you?” I asked, eyeing the two in question. “They say they want to hang around with us. I believe them. I trust them.” I headed back out the door and paused to look at Pelom; he seemed a trifle amazed. “I trust you’ll keep us entertained while we are delayed here?” I asked.

  He paused for a long second… and slowly saluted. “We shall honor your trust, my lord.”

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 25TH

  It was well after dark before we rolled out of town. Fortunately, we were already outside the main walls, so we weren’t locked in for the night. We set out normally, in column, and got out on the road. Then we paused, closed up our column, and led all the horses around back. About half of them would fit in the new carts; the other half would walk along behind. By keeping everyone aboard the wagons—moderately crowded, but I’ve been on car trips that were a lot worse—and by switching the horses in and out of the trailers at every rest stop, I figured we could keep going pretty much solid all day and night. Since an unladen horse goes faster than one hauling a wagon, we’d make more distance per unit of time, too. In theory. We’d see if it worked in practice.

  I got Bronze harnessed up in front. Four chains ran back from the custom-built iron-and-leather horsecollar; these connected to the main drag chain. We used four smaller chains so the horsecollar would seat itself properly against her shoulders. While I got her ready, the others made sure the wagons were ready. We still needed a driver on each wagon—well, a brakeman—just in case we had to stop suddenly.

  “Ready, girl?” I asked, patting her neck. She tossed her head and pawed at the ground.

  She loves a challenge, boss.

  “You can hear her, can’t you?”

  You made us both. Yes, I can hear her.
r />   “Why can’t she speak to me like you can?”

  I used to be a dragon. She used to be a bunch of horses. Dragons can talk, boss. Dragons can also hear the feelings in a beating heart. Horses can’t. I’ve been filled with the spirit of a dragon; you’ve consumed the blood of it. We have a strong affinity. Bronze was just shaped by your will. It’s not as strong a connection.

  “Oh. That makes a weird sort of sense, I suppose. So how do you know all that?”

  Boss… I used to be a dragon. Hello? Remember?

  “Ah. All right, I’ll take it as truth. Wagons… HO!”

  Bronze leaned into the collar. Slack was taken up. Wagons started to roll, one by one. Creaking and squealing and groaning, but they rolled. They picked up speed as Bronze dug in and started a slow, steady march forward. Hoofprints a handspan deep marked the hard-packed road. She picked up speed slowly but definitely, finally topping out at what was, for a horse, a fast walk. Any faster and she would have to change gaits.

  I think she could have slowly rumbled up from a walk to a full run, but I already told her not to go too fast. We didn’t want to lose anybody to a busted wheel or a broken axle.

  I wonder if it’s worth the effort to install seat belts?

  I rode Bronze all night to watch over everything. The chains looked like they were in good shape, the wagons were rolling along easily, Bronze wasn’t even straining, and everyone except the brakemen were apparently snoozing comfortably.

  We made a lot of miles before dawn. Then we paused for breakfast and to change out the horses to and from the horse-trailers. The ones now in the trailers also got sacks of oats and a few carrots; they had a long night.

  Once we had ourselves sorted out from the early-morning wake-up, we hit the road again. A cheer went up as Bronze started us down the road. She took us up to a fast walk again and I could see her stepping a little higher than before, almost prancing, even under the load she was hauling.

  I haven’t told her, but there’s a chest full of coal and her favorite metal scraps in my wagon. Every so often, I store a little magic in a nugget or scrap; I hope to have a little bit in each before the trip is over. When we get to Eastgate I’m going to surprise her with it. But I think the cheering is what she’ll appreciate the most.

  Everyone was up and awake now. I jumped down and waited for my wagon to go past. With a little jogging and a small jump, I swung aboard the back step and opened the door. I’d forgotten we were so strapped for space; Raeth was awake for the day shift and Bouger was sacked out, snoring. Tamara was lounging—she got the lion’s share of the space—while Hellas and Muldo were wrapped in each other’s arms and dozing.

  “Was the delay worth it, Raeth?” I asked.

  He smiled ruefully. “I am sorry that I ever doubted you, my lord.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Okay, Halar. Yes, I am impressed. We have made excellent time, and will surpass the best I have ever seen cavalry accomplish—all because of one tireless steed. Your legend will grow because of it.”

  I glared at him. “You always find some way to rub it in, don’t you?”

  He laughed, but quietly. “I cannot help but find it amusing.”

  “I’ll make the bards sing about you, too, if you keep it up,” I threatened. “‘Noble Sir Raeth, sidekick to the Wall of Blades, poniard of Honor and Justice!’ Don’t make me do it.”

  He bit his lips and shook his head. “I would not dream of it.” But there was laughter in his eyes.

  “Oh, nuts to you,” I said, and crawled carefully through the rocking wagon to lie down with Tamara. She shifted over to make room for me and was in no hurry to get up.

  “Shall we stop for lunch?” Raeth asked.

  “I’ll leave that up to you; how hard do we want to push everyone? I’d suggest it, though. I doubt anyone is used to being cramped into wagons like this for long. We’re the ones with space. The others are much more crowded.”

  “Rank hath its privileges,” Raeth noted. “Shall we obtain more wagons as we go?”

  “Later, maybe. I intend to blow most of our wealth on equipment and supplies in Eastgate; money won’t do much for us beyond there.”

  He nodded. “Well thought. I will bear it in mind. Now, if I may be excused, I wish to review our procession.”

  “As you will,” I said, waving him off. He stepped out the back, rode the rear step while he shut the door, and the wagon jounced a little as he dismounted.

  Tamara and I snuggled closer. We had a space about the size of the back of a station wagon and a bunch of cushions. And company. Still, I can think of worse ways to spend a day traveling than cuddling with a pretty lady.

  Pretty much anything, actually.

  THURSDAY, MARCH 2ND

  The days have rolled by quickly, along with the miles. Bronze truly does seem to be tireless. She isn’t complaining, anyway, and if she’s straining at all, I can’t tell. We’ve passed several villages in the past nights; I don’t think anyone noticed us. But it lets us know where we are; another two days like this and we’ll hit Eastgate.

  Riddle is going to be a politician or a professional pickpocket. He’s swiped something from everyone at some point. As per instructions, he gives it back, whatever it is—usually a few minutes after he’s taken it. He’s been caught several times, but the vast majority of his thefts are successful—or successful enough to let him get a good head start, which is all that counts.

  The good news is it has kept people amused. Almost everyone has taken his little pilferings in a good humor and thrown him gently out of their wagon. Mainly, I suspect, to keep him from teaching the other kids how to swipe stuff. I could be wrong.

  I finally stuffed him into a wagon with several squires—the kids were all a year or more older than Riddle, but I told them to hustle up teaching Riddle how to be a good squire. They saluted.

  It’s a bit creepy to see such a serious-eyed look from children.

  Tort, meanwhile, is skin and bones. Riddle’s thin, but she’s wasted away. Tamara decided to keep her in the main wagon and stuff food into her. Tort doesn’t go anywhere, generally; she is indeed missing her left foot. I didn’t notice it amid the bundles of clothes and the blanket. I’m told her foot was badly broken some months ago by a hobnailed boot; that was deliberate. Grumpy—the guy in charge of the gang—tended toward violence when frustrated, and both Tort and Riddle were convenient targets. When the broken foot began to fester, though, it had to be cut off; that ruined Tort as a potential thief or streetwalker.

  She’s lucky to be alive at all. She wouldn’t be if Riddle hadn’t half-hidden her in the attic and brought her food.

  Tamara is mothering her. Maybe that’s just for practice, but I know I get all soft and mushy whenever I see Tort. Hurt children get me all bent out of shape. I’m thinking about ways to encourage her to grow a new foot, but that will take both time and a lot of attention. With luck, though, later…

  Meanwhile, I have our carpenter whittling up a false foot. Maybe she won’t run like other kids, but she will walk without a crutch—or I’m not a wizard.

  Our minstrels have taken to teaching people new songs. Worse, they appear to be songs our minstrels have composed; I’ve heard at least two marching songs that allude to a wall of blades and a dragon. The lyrical quality is about on par with most of the marching cadences I’ve heard in movies. They’re not really too bad as songs go, but I’m still a little embarrassed about that sort of thing.

  We did have a couple of small incidents that could have been ugly. Brakemen shouldn’t fall asleep. We were stopping for the morning meal and leg-stretch and one of them barely jerked awake in time to jerk the brake. Nobody was hurt, but the wagon he was on came within a hair of ramming the one in front of it. That sort of thing is sheer carelessness. We’ve got the brakemen in shifts, now. Bronze is also slowing down a lot more gradually and we try to park on a gentle upward incline. That’s getting easier as we get closer to the mountains.

  Tamara is an
other story entirely; she’s enjoying the trip far more than I would have thought. We have all the privacy of a one-bedroom apartment with six people, but she isn’t demanding or pushy. She just touches me whenever she can and is happy—it’s a trick I wish I had! I’m working on it. I find that I like her touching me. If I weren’t deliriously happy, I’d be disgusted at our sappy, romantic, sugarcloud sweetness.

  As it is, I wouldn’t dream of having things any other way.

  Now, that brings us up to the present.

  Earlier this evening, I was riding Bronze and keeping an eye on things, as usual. I don’t need headlights to see the road, so I’m generally up there at night. It’s just as well I make a habit of that; I saw some figures lurking in the underbrush on either side of the road.

  I would have shouted and drawn Firebrand, but Bronze was hitched to the wagons. I need a quick-release system for that horsecollar. So, what to do? I dismounted, told her hold it down to a slow walk, and dashed ahead.

  Crossbows annoy the hell out of me. I damn well want my vest back.

  The good news is I was well-fed and healthy. The better news is that my reflexes are a lot faster at night than I ever dreamed. I caught one of the bolts and threw it down. I still had time to bat another aside before the rest of the ragged volley hit me. I took two in the chest and one in the belly.

  It hurt, but not as much as I expected. Besides, my body spat them out a second or two later. The regeneration forced them out of the flesh. That’s never happened before, but I don’t mind a bit. I felt fine after that.

  The crossbowmen made noises I interpreted as surprise and fear. I don’t blame them. I ran forward at full speed and was there, with them, picking them up and lofting them twenty feet into the air to land in the road. In the space of seconds, I had all six of them lying on the hard-packed dirt and trying to pick themselves up.

  They were goblins. Nasty little buggers with short swords, crossbows, and soot-blackened ring mail. I knocked heads together—gently—until they stopped moving. Then I waited for Bronze to catch up. I moved the unconscious forms aside as she approached, then signaled a halt. Bouger was the lead brakeman at the time. He insists on taking a watch even when I’m up. He had Raeth woken.