Nightlord: Sunset

by Garon Whited

  As he settled back, he asked, “Now will you talk sense, sir?”

  I touched my cheek with delicate fingertips. The slap stung like a wicked sunburn.

  “I’ll try,” I replied. “As soon as my eyeballs stop spinning.”

  Tamara lifted one finger to my chin and turned my head to examine the reddened cheek. She leaned close and licked the handprint, once. It felt better immediately.

  “There. You have my licks,” she said, and I tried to remember if I’d ever heard the word licks—essae—used as slang for beating—deta—in this world. In hindsight, I don’t think so. “Cease this foolishness of self-blame. What has been done is done. What is yet to come is ours to decide.”

  It certainly took my mind off my guilt, I give it that.

  “All right. My second question bears on that. What do we tell everyone else? Can we tell everyone else I’m a nightlord?”

  “No,” said everyone in unison, even Hellas. I blinked at them.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “Can you tell me why not?”

  Raeth started it. “Many of them are only here because you will found a school. If it were known you are nightlord, they would doubt your sincerity and think themselves simply stock for your feeding.”

  Bouger continued it with, “Others who swore to your banner will repudiate their oaths if they know you are—as they will see it—a creature of corruption and evil.”

  Hellas spoke up. “The women would never trust you again, lord. If but a single child goes missing, a single babe dies in its cradle, you will be the one they fear. You would not do any such thing, I know. You could not do such a thing to my Esmun or any other child. You are too gentle with children to ever harm one. But they will wonder. Wonder and fear breeds suspicion and mistrust. The ones who stayed would shun you. Others would take their children and flee.”

  Everyone looked at her, myself included. “I think that’s the longest I’ve heard you talk at a stretch since I’ve known you,” I remarked. She blushed pink from her neck to ears.

  “My lord did ask,” she murmured.

  “I did. And you answered me most cleverly and completely. I thank you for your counsel and I will do as you suggest, Hellas. We will keep my secret for a while longer.”

  She blushed even more and kept quiet.

  “So! Now we have to come up with a reason for why the bad guys are letting us through and giving up their future meals. Suggestions?”

  “Bribery,” Tamara replied. “Or what they will think of as bribery. Purchase passage.”

  “Go on.”

  “We have much gold and many jewels. We have little use for them once we are beyond the pass. You will give them to the dark horde that holds Eastgate and they will surrender up their prisoners to us, then let us pass. Among their own kind they may then buy food, and with ourselves gone from the kingdom, it will be that much easier to invade it.”

  Raeth nodded. “Among the dark army your stature will grow, cementing your leadership further. You are the lord of the night that pours out riches in reward. It will do much to offset your absence.”

  I nodded. “Good thinking. We’ll do that. I only considered Raeth’s argument before—I promised Bob a fistful of gems. But it makes for a good cover story, too.” I squeezed Tamara’s hand and nodded to Raeth. “All right, let’s get Caedwyl and Caeron in here and explain things to them.”

  Bouger opened the rear door and whistled. The sergeants jumped down off an open wagon and came jogging up, swung aboard, climbed in. Bouger shut the door behind them. All three settled on the rocking floorboards and the scattered cushions.

  I realized I didn’t have the faintest notion of what to say.

  Everyone was looking at me and waiting. I don’t have a problem with that. I used to have up to four hundred freshmen staring at me on a daily basis. It’s just… How do you tell someone you’re a blood-sucking fiend of evil that’s really a pretty decent sort of guy? I drew a blank.

  “My lord?” Tamara asked. I turned to her gratefully.

  “Yes?”

  “May I?”

  “Since I have no idea where to start… please do.”

  She kissed my cheek and smiled at everyone. “I come before you as a Priestess of the Flame,” she said. “Who stands in the light?”

  Everyone held out their hands in a gesture that put me in mind of an orphan child asking for more. The edges of the hands were pressed together, the fingers curled a bit to form a bowl. I copied this gesture. (Nobody tells me anything.)

  “I bring you the Flame,” Tamara said, and her hair started that flowing firefall effect. She held out her hands and solemnly placed them over mine. Something poured into my hands. It wasn’t a liquid, exactly, although it flowed like one. It wasn’t a gas, either, but it weighed about as much. It might have been calm fire. It looked like it. Tamara filled the cupped hands of everyone, one by one. None of it spilled or ran; it was as though the fire wanted to stay in our hands.

  “Who still holds darkness within them?” she asked, looking to Raeth, on her left. He sat on the other side of Tamara from me. We were all in a very loose circle.

  “I do,” Raeth said. “There are those who are less insightful than I, and I mock them in my heart.”

  “You know the shadow of your soul. Drink,” Tamara replied. He lifted his hands and drank the fire as if it were water, every last glowing bit.

  “I do,” Hellas said. “I fear.”

  “You know the shadow of your soul. Drink.” Hellas tilted up her hands and the fire flowed down her throat. Raeth was already glowing from his draught—quite literally glowing, like a watch dial.

  Caeron spoke up in his turn. “I do. I have a greed for gold.” Tamara answered him ritually and he drank the fire in his hands.

  Caedwyl’s response was, “I do. I lust for the flesh of women.” Tamara again answered him with ritual and he drank.

  Bouger said, “I do. I am proud and arrogant and think myself better than other men.” Again, the ritual answer and drinking.

  My turn.

  “I do,” I said, and my mouth was dry. “I am a nightlord.” I saw what was coming and hoped really hard that we finished burning away demonic venom.

  “You know the shadow of your soul,” she answered. “Drink.” I lifted my hands and drank down the fire. It tasted like wild honey and laughter. If you can’t imagine that, good luck on imagining how it felt to experience it.

  Now we were all aglow in the wagon. A yellow-gold light shone through the skin, tinged with red. It reminded me of the effect of shining a flashlight through a fingertip, or staring at the sun with your eyes closed. The light shone from inside each of us.

  “Shadows take refuge behind us and within us,” Tamara said. “They cannot bear the touch of light. The Flame is within you. The darkness inside is no more.” She touched my hand again and we clasped fingers. She said to me, “Yours will never fully leave you,” she said, “for the power of it is rooted in blood and bone. But your spirit is strong and your heart is good. May your darkness be that of the time before, when the Mother and the Father loved as one.”

  I didn’t have a good answer to that, so I just nodded. She smiled and leaned close, face turned up; I kissed her. It seemed the thing to do.

  When we finished, she smiled at everyone. “The Fire within us burns brightly.”

  “We will burn brightly,” everyone replied. I was a beat behind, but I was there. Having said that, our inner glow damped down and Tamara’s hair went back to merely an exuberant red.

  Caedwyl and Caeron looked at me and kept looking at me. Raeth and Bouger smiled and pretended not to notice. Tamara kept my hand in both of hers.

  “What?” I asked, looking from one twin to the other.

  “You are a nightlord?” Caeron asked. (I’m going to just guess which is which and correct it later if I find out different and it matters.)

  “I am.”

  They looked at each other, then back at me.

&nbs
p; “How long?” Caedwyl asked.

  “Half a year or so,” I admitted.

  They shared a long, contemplative silence. At last, Caeron spoke up again.

  “My lady,” he began, formally, “we wish to ask your opinion of this man, this nightlord.”

  “I am a Priestess of the Flame,” she replied, serenely. “The Goddess has chosen him as my consort. I trust him.”

  Caedwyl and Caeron looked at each other again and shrugged simultaneously. Eerie.

  “As you say,” Caedwyl replied. “Will there be anything else?”

  I know I had to be a study in amazement. “You’re all right with this? Me being a nightlord?”

  Caeron nodded. “We do not know much of nightlords. They are stories to frighten children, not things we have ever seen. Now our lord—an honest and generous man, a hero of the realm—is one of these creatures that drinks blood in the night.” He shrugged. “Can I say I believe it? Not truly. But I’ve not seen your fangs at my throat, nor any throat at all. When I do, ask again!”

  Caedwyl added, “And there’s much to be said for the trust of a woman! I ought to know! But we speak not of just any woman; we speak of one beloved of the Goddess of Flame. If She says all is well, then I’ll not be naysaying! No, nor my brother—nor dares any man in our hearing, or he’ll eat steel.”

  “Aye,” Caeron agreed.

  I squeezed Tamara’s hand. She’s saved my life more than once and made it a much happier one to boot. If I got what I deserved, I’d probably be a heap of ashes. Instead, Someone up there likes me—and sent me Tamara.

  “Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. “Caedwyl, Caeron—welcome to my inner circle. We’re planning to go through Eastgate and pick up a lot of people. You’re included on the planning session because you are, effectively, the ranking noncoms in our party. We want your input and opinions on the plan. This is what we have so far…”

  SATURDAY, MARCH 4TH

  We’ve been on the road for a while this evening and we’ve made excellent time, mainly because a lantern and a couple of mirrors can be turned into a workable headlight. I mounted that on the front of the lead wagon while it was still daylight. Once the sun went down, we took a break to stretch legs, oil swords, sharpen knives, string bows… all the little things.

  We’re going into potentially hostile territory. We’re ready to be hostile right back.

  While the warlike preparations were being carried out, I took a quick jaunt into the surrounding land to check out the local wildlife. Mostly, it was rabbit and squirrel again, although I did luck out and find a bull that had escaped the army of the uglies. I fell to, drank my dinner, and beat feet back to the caravan. A headlight is helpful, but things can be misinterpreted at night; with me up front, on Bronze, there wasn’t much chance of an overeager goblin sentry shooting someone in the throat.

  By being up front, I was putting my own throat on the line. I could take it. I drink dinner every night so I can take it.

  Fortunately, no one molested us. We rolled through the night at battle stations, approaching Eastgate steadily. We were a trifle ahead of schedule when Eastgate came into view; we went off-road into a field and circled the wagons to wait for dawn.

  No one bothered us.

  Once the sun was up again, I cast a deflection spell—just in case—and mounted up. It was a dark morning. The sky was heavy with clouds; most of the peaks were lost in them. Bronze hauled the wagons along the road, winding ever upward through the foothills to Eastgate. Whoever was on guard saw us coming and opened the wooden palisade gate to let us in. I caught sight of one of the elves, swathed from head to foot in a lot of black wrapping. It made me think of a full-body turban or a mummy.

  The gate closed behind us. After that, we saw no one.

  Eastgate was well and truly sacked. The buildings outside the wall were in the process of being torn down to liberate material for the fortifications. The buildings inside were being reinforced. Little guys with beady eyes and big noses peered at us through the ripening daylight. It was definitely a goblin town.

  Bob met us at the gate to the pass. He came out of the guardpost at the gate and went to one knee before me. I signaled Bronze to halt and the whole wagon train squealed to a gradual stop.

  “Lord, I have done as you instructed,” Bob said.

  “Get the gate open,” I replied. Bob drew out a whistle and blew on it; it was a high-pitched squealer of a whistle. At that signal, clanking and shouting told me he had orcs at the windlass. The gate started to creep open. I could see a collection of wagons a few hundred yards beyond, loaded down with passengers. I waited until the portals had swung back completely and beckoned Bob to my side.

  “Take these,” I said, and handed him the small pouch of jewels. “Reward the ones who did well and give them my compliments. Then keep the rest for a treasury against need.”

  Bob bowed as he took the pouch in both hands. “As my lord commands.”

  I beckoned him closer and I leaned down in the saddle. “If it should so fall out that the entire Eastrange—above and below—should fall under my sway, I would be pleased.”

  Bob pressed his hand over his heart—a salute I felt he would never forget—and said, “My lord, I will have every thing that lives and breathes in or on or under the mountains swear fealty to thee, or it will die.”

  I smiled at him and had to admire his dedication—I still didn’t like him, but I could at least respect him.

  “Good.” I signaled to Raeth and he dismounted a wagon to approach. “Bob, I want you to meet Sir Raeth, my most trusted lieutenant. Know him well.”

  Bob looked Raeth over and nodded. “I mark him, Dark Lord.”

  “Good. Because he is my right hand. He is my executive officer and has authority not only over you, but over all of my forces, everywhere, no matter where they are hidden. If he says to do it, make it happen—or I will personally give the order to your successor. I don’t care what he tells you. His orders are my orders. If I find he has ever given orders on my authority and it has not come to pass, I will see to it that you do not die.”

  Bob looked puzzled for a moment. “That I…?”

  “You will serve as a good example—or a horrible warning,” I clarified.

  Bob’s hand drifted up to his chest again. He swallowed heavily.

  “Lord, I understand.”

  “Show me,” I replied.

  Bob moved to stand before Raeth—Raeth had held a stern-looking expression during the whole conversation—and went to one knee, head bowed.

  Raeth touched Bob’s head. “Rise, Bob, and know that I serve our lord’s will, even as you.”

  “As you say, Sir Raeth.” Bob rose and backed up a step.

  “Sir Raeth, mark this elf well. You are my right hand, but he is my left. Respect him.”

  “I will, my lord.”

  “Now that we have that clarified,” I said, “is there anything else I need to know about, Bob?”

  “We have sent messengers to the undercaverns. I hope to have more forces and support within the week.”

  “Excellent,” I enthused, hiding a twist in my gut. The last thing I wanted was a massive army of monsters. I felt unpleasantly responsible and not at all amused. “I will leave you to it,” I added.

  Bob bowed and backed away. I gestured Raeth back toward the wagon and he remounted. I nudged Bronze and we walked through the portals of Eastgate, out of the kingdom of Rethven.

  Once we drew abreast of the prisoners’ wagons, we called a halt again. These wagons didn’t have hitching hardware mounted for our caravan configuration, but Bob had included the chains I’d specified. We’d handle that later. We got out a collection of horses, hitched them up to the new wagons, and headed on through the pass. Roll call would wait. We got moving as quickly as we could.

  It’s tricky going, rolling through the pass. It’s just a low spot in the mountains, really. It slopes very gradually down from the Eastgate to the plains, but not evenly. That takes cons
tant vigilance on the part of the brakemen. I was glad we’d had practice. Bronze hauled very gently, just enough to keep the whole train moving over level spots. We paused to change horses on the new wagons about midday.

  While we were rolling, we handed out blankets and made use of hammer and chisel. Bob had chained his prisoners to the wagon beds. Once we started cutting chains, they started to ask questions. Lots of questions. We split up among the new wagons and explained they were being freed.

  “Who are you?” a man in my wagon asked.

  “Sir Halar the Wizard,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face. I’m getting used to it, slowly. I deal better with being called “Dark Lord.” Go figure.

  “I heard of you! You’re the one that Duke Heledon knighted and sent to Crag Keep! You killed a dragon and drove off—”

  “Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “That’s me. Now, I’ve just pulled a fast one with the dark horde behind us—I’ve blown a lot of money to bribe them to let you go. If you would please just hold your questions until we can get out of this canyon and into the plains, we’ll camp, have something to eat, and see to any hurts you may have. Anyone have any serious—I mean life-threatening!—wounds at the moment?”

  No one in my wagon.

  “Good! I’ll see about something to eat and drink directly, just to keep body and soul together until we get a real meal.”

  One young lady, maybe fourteen, slowly raised a trembling hand. Her expression was of near-terror. From the look of her, she’d been badly beaten, but wasn’t in any danger.

  “What?” I asked.

  “S-s-sir? W-won’t the… the b-barbarians…?” she asked, shivering, staring at me, eyes wide. I could almost see her thinking, Saved from being eaten by goblins and orcs to be killed and skinned by savages.

  “No,” I replied. “They won’t. They don’t generally even come to the end of the pass. Even if they do, I’ll tell them to go away. What are you looking so scared for?”

  She gulped and looked down, trembling. I noticed two things. Most of the rest of the wagonload was fidgeting right along with her, and she had a bloodstained rag wrapped around one wrist. They’d been through a lot—more than I like to think about—and were doubtless still uncertain and on edge. The girl, I felt sure, had been through a little more as my involuntary blood donor.