Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  I’m feeling guilty.

  What can I do? Fix it? How? Tell them to pack it up and go home?

  They might. But the fact they took Eastgate is going to make the rest of their various races think about coming up and paying a call. Everyone will jump on the bandwagon, kill the musicians, take the instruments, and eat the horses.

  Maybe I should kill them all? I might be able to, especially if they’re all conveniently assembled. But I’ve recently had some ethical issues with mass slaughter; something about being emotionally involved with a fire-witch. I get the feeling her Goddess would not be pleased. What was it Tamara said? “You’re alive, so you’re part of Her religion.” Something like that. I get the feeling—and it’s a strong feeling—that She would be a little… disappointed in me.

  Dammit.

  I brooded and thought and cudgeled my brains for a solution. When Bob came back, I was still thinking.

  “Lord, the troops are assembled and ready for your inspection.”

  I grunted something and got up; he led me out to a balcony that overlooked a city square. It was a good balcony. I could easily imagine the Duke standing here and addressing the public.

  My army was waiting. They were in ranks, ready for parade, and obviously summoned directly from whatever duty they were on. Many weren’t even wearing armor, but every last one of them had a sharp object of some sort, just in case I wanted something killed.

  Goblins and kobolds formed the front ranks. A little quick math pegged them at around fifteen hundred or so. Kobolds, by the way, are like goblins, just smaller, more feral, and look a lot like a humanized and miniaturized Tyrannosaur. If goblins had evolved from the T-rex, then the kobolds would be about the same place as Neanderthals on the evolutionary tree.

  Orcs made up the next ranks. Maybe three hundred, tops. All of them were dressed for war; armor and weapons were ready.

  I got to compare ogres and trolls. There were about five hundred of them, total. The things on wall detail were ogres. Trolls are even taller, but incredibly thin and wiry. Ogres are sacks of muscles inside skin and hair. Trolls are skeletons with steel wire for muscles and a spray-on coat of green and grey rubber.

  The whole arrangement was divided into four sections, equal numbers of each troop type in each section. At the head of each section was an elf.

  Bob didn’t impress me much—or, to be more nearly correct, he didn’t impress me when we first met. These guys did. They each wore blackened mail and carried a thin, long sword that reminded me of a fencing saber. Unlike their troops, they stood to attention and stood perfectly still. The troops tended to shift from foot to foot and look around. The guys in charge struck me as having been to a war in a professional capacity.

  “Is this everyone?” I asked, quietly.

  “All who are not beyond reach of swift messengers. There are scouting forces beyond the city, lord,” Bob replied, equally quietly.

  “Good enough. Do they all speak Rethven, or will we need translators?”

  “Most know a few words, lord. Those few who know it well will relay to their fellows.”

  I raised my voice. “You have come here to sack a city,” I said, and discovered the acoustics of the place were excellent. “You have succeeded.”

  There was an excited susurrus of sound among the ranks. I ignored this.

  “It has been asked of me to demonstrate my power. This tells me that your faith is weak!” I shouted. “Weak! And weakness is not permitted!”

  I stepped over the edge of the balcony, fell three storeys to the ground, and landed like a gymnast doing a dismount: I spiked the landing. No flexing of the knees, no grunting, not even a flicker of expression across my face. I didn’t break anything, but I felt it from heels to head.

  I pointed at the four elves while my joints and spine realigned. “Select one from each of your divisions,” I commanded. “Each of you, offer me a sacrifice.”

  One instant, they were standing as motionless as statues. The next, they were whirls of dark cloak and flowing movement. In thirty seconds, I had a pair of trolls, one ogre, and a big, hulking brute of an orc in front of me. Very nice. Apparently, they were aiming at appeasement; I was expecting a quartet of kobolds.

  They wanted a nightlord. Fine. I would rather they had one; I might be able to keep them from rampaging from one side of the kingdom to the other. If it’s a matter of unquestioning obedience to the ruthless madman with fangs, I can play the part of Dark Overlord of Evil for a while.

  I gathered myself, uncoiling tendrils like a crazed jellyfish. I struck with them, gesturing theatrically as I did so. All four of the chosen sacrifices staggered under the lash of exhaustion, under the draining. They sank to their knees, one by one, and slowly toppled.

  None of them were mental giants—the orc was the bright one. The others were materially more stupid. They were all unpleasant, nasty, evil creatures. They didn’t see themselves that way, but they had absolutely no moral character at all. Anything they felt like doing—literally, anything at all—had to be right. Worse, they didn’t even have the idea of abstract right and wrong. Anything that succeeded in getting food or a mate or prevented pain was right. Anything that lost food, lost a mate, or caused pain to themselves was wrong. That was all.

  I picked up the ogre, all half-ton of him, just to demonstrate to the troops that their ultimate leader was really the badass they hoped. I steeled myself for the taste and sank fangs into it. It was a simple creature, but immensely strong. I drank the power of its blood. It was nothing compared to dragon’s blood, but it was still heady stuff. I did it again with the orc. That was just another gulp.

  The trolls were different. Their blood had a flavor of vitality I didn’t recognize. Something about it was exceptionally alive. Their spirits were nothing exceptional; simple and uncluttered, nothing like a human being. Their blood was like drinking from a fire hose. There was a simmering, ready-to-go quality to it I couldn’t quite fathom. It didn’t taste like anything I’d ever tried before.

  When I threw down the last of the bodies, I realized I’d let some of the blood spill down my chin. I wiped it away and drew Firebrand.

  “Move back,” I advised the elves. They didn’t step back so much as drift. Maybe glide.

  Torch ’em, boss?

  “Just the corpses,” I muttered. Firebrand lit like a blowtorch and poured out a steady stream of white fire. It blazed, it burned, it blinded. I swept the stream of fire over the bodies, playing it like a hose. They burned brightly, red and orange, and I swept Firebrand back over them again.

  When it was done, there was a glowing place on the flagstones where the bodies had been, cracked and clicking as it cooled.

  I leaped back up to the balcony. I thought I would need to catch the rail and flip upward theatrically, but I was pumped on monster blood. I sprang easily over the rail and the balcony itself, nearly kissed the wall above, bounced from it lightly, and landed on the balcony proper. I kept my expression cold, or tried to, and turned to face my troops.

  “Well?” I asked, loud enough to carry. Many of the troops were blinking and rubbing their eyes. The ones who had looked at the fire too long would be blind for a while. “Is your faith strong?” I demanded.

  A couple thousand sharp objects thrust skyward. An army of voices screamed. It echoed around the city and back from the mountains.

  I still had Firebrand in hand. I drew the edge along the palm of my left hand. The cut healed almost as quickly as I made it, which was annoying. This idea would take timing.

  “You have taken this city in my name,” I said. “You have shed blood for it, you have given your blood for it. Now I give mine and claim it.” I ran my hand along Firebrand’s edge and immediately flicked blood to the still-glowing stones; it hissed and sizzled and boiled away.

  “This is my city!” I shouted. “Keep it!”

  They cheered. They stomped. They pounded breastplates, they rattled weapons on shields.

  I turned my back. “
Dismiss them,” I told Bob, and went inside.

  Inside, I sheathed Firebrand and wound my way back to the sitting room. Outside, I could hear Bob exhorting the troops at length. They were crazy for him. They shrieked like teenage girls at a rock concert. It brought a smile to my face, thinking of some beanpole troll jumping up and down and then fainting.

  There was a sudden silence from the courtyard, broken a moment later by sharp orders and the sounds of marching feet. A moment later, Bob came into the sitting room, smiling.

  “Well done, great lord,” he said. “I humbly thank you for your generosity.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “May I say, lord, that you possess a certain brevity in your remarks that seems quite appealing to the troops?”

  “Which means I’m not an eloquent orator, but I get my point across.”

  He bowed. “True eloquence is saying more with fewer words, O Lord of Night.”

  “So what did you say to them?”

  “I took your remarks to heart,” he said, laying a hand against his chest. “I have ordered that the city is to be prepared for defense with all haste. We shall claim it as our home and defend it against all who would take it from us. I am certain this will inspire more of those below to join our cause.”

  “Good,” I replied, sounding more cheerful at the prospect than I felt. This wasn’t such a terrible compromise, I guess. They took Eastgate. It’s done. Now they would sit and keep it if they could, rather than wreak havoc in the kingdom. If the armies of the king came to take it back… well, they came looking for a fight. If anyone wanted to be reasonable, the killing could stop right here.

  I doubted anyone would be reasonable, but at least I was presenting the world with the opportunity.

  “I shall have your prisoners prepared as instructed,” Bob went on. “How else may I serve?”

  I thought about it. “That’s it for now. Keep on top of things.”

  He bowed again, his hand pressed to his chest, over his heart. Probably right over the handprint I’d already put there.

  “To hear is to obey, Dark Lord.”

  I made it back to the wagons well before dawn. We turned around and headed for Eastgate again. Bronze was hitched up and, once it was daylight, we pushed the safety limit on speed. I wanted us ready to roll through Eastgate, collect the human survivors, and be gone before anyone could to anything stupid.

  Once things were organized, the command staff settled in our wagon and I explained.

  “First of all,” I started, “I have to ask Caedwyl and Caeron to step outside for a moment. Family business.” The two looked at each other for a second, then shrugged in unison and opened the door to step outside. Once the door was closed behind them, I sighed and looked around at the rest: Tamara, Raeth, Hellas, and Bouger.

  “Can they be trusted?” I asked. Everyone nodded, eyeing me with some concern. “I mean really trusted? With the truth?”

  “That truth?” Tamara asked.

  “My truth. My secret.”

  There was a pause, and a long one. They thought hard about it, and I was glad. A snap answer when my life is potentially on the line would have worried me.

  “I think so,” Raeth offered, “especially if it is made clear that all of us knew of it.”

  Hellas nodded. Bouger looked thoughtful, then agreed.

  “Tamara?” I asked. She bit her lip.

  “All right. Yes. I wouldn’t risk it, but I think they will not betray you. Is it needful?”

  “It may be. I do not like having secrets from the people in charge—and they are the right hands of Raeth and Bouger.”

  Bouger snorted. “You can say that again!”

  “Then we’ll tell them?” Tamara asked.

  “Yes, but later. Right now, I have to explain something that may not be entirely good.”

  “Uh-oh,” Bouger offered. “Will I need my armor?”

  “No. I’ll hold still for it if you’re that pissed off about it.”

  He blinked. “I was joking.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh, dear.” They all scooted closer, the better to hear me as I got quiet. Tamara took one of my hands into her lap and enfolded it in both of hers.

  “I am sure that all of you are familiar with the story of how I freed Raeth and Bouger. Yes?” There were nods. “The official story is I killed everything in the tower I could reach and the survivors fled at best speed from my wrath. With me so far?” More nods. “That’s not quite the case.”

  Raeth interrupted. “I do not mean to be troublesome, but I know you lied about what happened.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “It was obvious to me that the events you described were not the truth.”

  I stared at him for several seconds. “All right. I’m listening. How did you know that?”

  “If you had invaded the tower, the survivors would not have had time to pack up and take what supplies they did,” he explained. “They stripped the tower of all they might find useful and made off with it. That alone would have been sufficient.”

  Oops.

  “The wounds on the bodies did not immediately interest me,” he went on, “because you said that you used magic to slay many of them. Yet, after some thought, I wondered why every corpse had wounds. If you slew with magic, why bother to cut throats?” He smiled. “It was only later, after dreams of nightlords, that I began to wonder at your sleeping habits, and then wonder about the bodies again—few had bled at all, although blood was splashed about.”

  Bouger looked startled, then thoughtful. “The cut throats should have bled quite a lot,” he said, absently. “Even dead, they should have had a pool beneath each head.”

  “Exactly,” Raeth agreed. “So I can only assume that you entered the tower, slew many, negotiated our release, and then pretended—for you own safety and security—to be merely mortal.”

  I stared at Raeth until Tamara nudged me. I shook myself and said, “Raeth, have I mentioned I am very glad to have you on my side?”

  “It has been mentioned,” he allowed.

  “Good. Because if I missed mentioning that, I’m a bigger fool than you’ve just proven me to be.”

  “You are no fool, my lord. Sometimes a trifle obtuse, perhaps.”

  “Ouch. I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed. “Okay. Well. With that as a starting point, let me explain what really happened at the tower.” I did; I left nothing out. I even asked them to wait for a moment while I stepped into my mental study, flipped open my journal, and consulted the pages with the details. I told them everything I could remember.

  When I was finished, there was a reflective silence.

  “He succeeded,” Raeth said.

  “He succeeded,” I agreed.

  Bouger frowned. “Who? And how so?”

  Raeth turned to him and explained, “This elf that went off to conquer a kingdom—he has gathered together many troops of the unclean races and they have taken the Eastgate.” Raeth looked at me. “For you, lord. In your name.”

  I nodded. There were stares and I felt my face growing warm.

  “There are over two thousand troops, divided among kobolds, goblins, orcs, ogres, and trolls—and a few elves. They have Eastgate and they are fortifying it.”

  “Then why are we going there?” Bouger demanded. He’s a good man and a practical fellow, but sometimes a little slow on the uptake. “It’s asking for a quick death!”

  “The troops,” Raeth said evenly, “belong to our lord, Sir Halar.”

  Bouger stopped in mid-gripe. “They…?” he trailed off. Lights started coming on in his head.

  “Bob went into and under the Eastrange and recruited troops,” I explained. “He didn’t get a lot of takers, but all the ones he could get, he brought up and used to take Eastgate. The place is theirs—or, if you want to be technical, mine. We are going through to pick up the human survivors and continue on our trip. I’ve left
orders that Eastgate is to be held.”

  “Held?” Bouger echoed. “Whatever for?”

  “Because they need something to do!” I snapped. I shouldn’t have snapped at him. I was feeling upset and guilty and angry with myself. “If I let them do whatever they please, they’ll kill anyone and anything they can reach, then beat it back to their new walls to hold off any counterstrikes. If they get reinforcements, they’ll attack farther into the kingdom—and with their current morale and leadership, they would kill a horrendous number of people.”

  “By keeping them in Eastgate,” Raeth said, laying a restraining hand on Bouger’s forearm, “they are a limited threat. True, they fortify their position, but they are also a known threat and can be dealt with. If they cannot be eradicated, they can be contained.”

  “I thought that a better idea than a roving army sacking anything in its path,” I added.

  Bouger looked unhappy. “What about farther south along the mountains?”

  “What about it? I don’t know of any activity there.”

  “My lands are there, lord.”

  “Wexbrey is between Eastgate and Baret?” I asked.

  “Yes. Far enough south to be in Duke Brenner’s fold. Baret is closer to Wexbrey than we are, at least at the moment.”

  “Then they should be fine, as far as I know. Eastgate is the rally point.”

  He nodded and relaxed a little.

  “That’s the situation as it stands. My questions are two. First, does anyone want to yell at me, knife me, or tell me I’m lousy rotten bastard before they pack up their things and go? Anyone?”

  There was a silence while everyone shook heads in the negative.

  “I’m not kidding, people. I’m kicking myself over this. It’s only fair you get in a few licks. I won’t hold it against you.”

  Raeth and Bouger looked at each other for a second. Raeth shrugged and said to Bouger, “He shall feel the better for it.”

  Bouger turned to me, leaned forward, reached out, and slapped me squarely across the face.