by Garon Whited
Tobias turned in surprise and rose, probably expecting another Duke. Instead, he saw me.
I have seen more rapid flickers of expression go fluttering over a person’s face, but only with computer animation and thousands of man-hours of work. One hand darted to his belt, but whatever he wanted wasn’t there.
“You!”
The priests looked at each other. I looked at Tobias. The Duke looked from Tobias to me and back again. More looks got traded around. If glances were sharp, we’d have bled all over the floor.
“Yes,” I replied. “Me. Sir Halar the Wizard, Hero of the Battle at Crag Keep, breaker of the viksagi invasion. And you are?”
He calmed instantly to a bland, mild, mundane Milquetoast. Everything except his eyes—which made me remember how dangerous Milquetoast really was. He stared at me without blinking. I could see his eyes glimmer, tapetum-like. Catlike. I wondered how he knew me. Crystal-gazing? Memories drawn from people who actually saw me?—at least one mage and one assassin, for certain. Perhaps through dreams and visions?
“I am Cardinal Tobias, Prelate of the Order of the Hand,” he said, formally, and his voice was cold. “I regret that I have heard much of your doings.”
“Not as much as the good Duke, I am certain. I’ve regaled him with every story I can think of, although I tell them nowhere near as well as that troublesome bard.”
Tobias nodded. “I am sure.” He turned his gaze to Callias. “Does your father know with whom you consort?”
Callias’ chin lifted. “My father will have no objection to the attentions of a perfect gentleman,” she retorted. I sensed history, there.
“A pity you have not yet found one—” Tobias began, but I cut him off.
“I haven’t introduced her to the Duke,” I retorted, “so there’s hope.”
Tobias stiffened. “Your implication is offensive.”
“Yours was first,” I retorted. “I responded in kind.”
“Does she know what becomes of your paramours?” he asked, not taking his eyes off me.
“Does she know what you’ve tried to do to them?” I snapped back.
“Them?” he asked, looking startled. “There have been more than the black-haired wench?”
“Yes. And Sasha was not a ‘wench,’ priest, but my wife. If you weren’t wearing those robes, I’d see you at noon on the field of honor.” Now we would discover if he knew about Shada or Tamara.
He backpedaled a little. “I refer not to the… lady who was your wife,” he corrected. “I have in mind the gata woman you toyed with. Utai.” I felt a sinking sensation. Yes, he knew exactly who she was.
“Yes, that’s her,” I admitted. “Shall we air that little incident with the Inquisitors and what happened to them?”
He regarded me intently. “Yes, I think that would be well. Here. Now. In front of all these nobles here assembled—yes, now would be a most excellent time.”
Well. That was unexpected.
He turned to the Duke—who was watching and listening, if a trifle confusedly—and requested permission to make an announcement.
For a culture without loudspeakers or electric lights, it’s amazing how fast attention can be grabbed. Before I knew it, the Duke was between Tobias and I, there on the raised area before the main table. The musicians had fallen silent and a couple hundred faces were aimed at us.
“Lords, ladies, gentlemen,” the Duke began, voice quavering in the silence, “the Cardinal Tobias, Prelate of the Hand, and Sir Halar the Wizard Knight and Hero, wish to make announcements. Direct your attention to these gentlemen, if you please.” The Duke stepped forward, down the steps of the raised area, and turned to look at us expectantly.
I loosened Firebrand in its scabbard. If murmuring is any indication, the gesture did not go unnoticed.
“You first,” I said, bowing slightly and gesturing toward the crowd.
Tobias took a step forward and began to speak.
He’s a good speaker, I give him that. He has a voice that projects, he speaks clearly, he uses language well, and he pushes emotional buttons while he talks. He explained that a nightlord had returned from beyond the Gate of Shadows. He traced the thing from the City of Bones to Telen, then tracked it through half the kingdom before closing in on it in Carrillon.
To hear him tell it, it was an epic adventure and worthy of a saga or two. It sounded like the Hand was full of heroes and martyrs, prepared to lay down their lives for the greater good—and I was an evil from beyond the ends of the earth, more dangerous than nuclear waste. He told it very well, lied through his teeth, and the crowd was raptly attentive. Worse, they were getting into the story, murmuring and muttering and occasionally shaking fists or gripping dagger-hilts. Here and there, I spotted a few priests in the crowd, encouraging the people.
“Tonight—tonight!—I have found it. I have found this creature lurking here, within the very lights of Carrillon! It stands among us even now, masquerading as a human being, as a man! It looks at us, seeing only prey, seeing only blood to drink and flesh to rend! And it deceives all those who look upon it!” he shouted.
It sounded like a climax to his storytelling. I interrupted.
“He’s talking about me,” I said. Tobias did a double-take as I said so; I don’t think he expected to be interrupted—or for me to admit it. “Thank you for the introduction,” I told him, “but you have a few details wrong.”
I held up my hands to quiet the murmuring crowd.
“First of all, I didn’t come through the Gate of Shadows. I barely know what it is. I’ve never even seen it. I came through a magical doorway in Telen—one the Hand has been using to hunt nightlords in other worlds. They’ve been sending agents through to other realities, other places, just asking for trouble.”
“Silence!” Tobias thundered.
“Are you afraid of the truth, priest?” I demanded, glaring at him. I turned back to the crowd before he could answer. “Personally, I’d never have come here and never bothered anyone, except the Hand sent assassins after my wife and I. They killed her, and I’ve come to make the Hand pay for that. And to make them stop murdering people.”
I grinned. I showed fangs. There were gasps. Tobias was turning a sort of reddish-purple color. I wondered if he’d burst a blood vessel and save me no end of trouble.
Instead, he pointed at me and shouted “Seize him!” His bodyguards were obviously selected for their loyalty and combat skills, not for their brains. They tried to jump me. During the day, they might have succeeded.
Firebrand whooped in glee—and then complained bitterly when I didn’t move to draw. Instead, I grabbed the two bodyguards, slammed them together, and braced for a heavy shove. I sent them skidding back along the raised end of the room until they thudded against the wall.
I turned back to the crowd, ignoring Tobias, treating the whole incident as a minor annoyance.
“Lord and ladies, I do beg your pardon for that unmannerly interruption. Where was I? Oh, yes…
“As I was saying, I’ve seen the occasional problem. Yes, I’ve killed people; that much is true. The Prelate of the Hand has neglected to mention who I have killed. Several murderers are now dead, along with some rapists. So are a lot of goblins. And a few hundred viksagi, along with one dragon.” I shrugged. “If you don’t think I should have killed them, then I apologize. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. If you want me to never kill another viksagi, just say so. I’ll leave them alone. If you want cutthroats and thieves roaming your streets, say so! I’ll leave them alone, too!”
The expressions on the faces varied greatly. Some were still confused and startled. A few were thoughtful. A priest in the crowd shouted at me.
“Who are you to judge who lives and dies?”
“Have you ever killed someone on a battlefield?” I demanded, pointing at him. “I have. When someone is trying to kill you, they pronounce judgment on themselves. I’m not the one sitting in a temple and pretending to speak for a god!”
/> “Pretending!” he shrieked, indignant.
“Pretending!” I shouted back. “I’ve heard the voice of the god!”
That stunned everybody, Tobias included.
I looked around the crowd, making strong eye contact.
“I don’t know any of you—not really. I like to think I haven’t bothered you. You know more about the Hand than I do; you know how they operate and what they do. I think they bother you a lot more! I know they bother me.”
There was some muttering at that, mostly in agreement. The shock of my claim was wearing off, and the Hand hasn’t been too popular for a long while now.
“We hunt you because you are a creature of darkness!” shouted another priest. “You must be destroyed!”
“Fine.” I tugged loose a glove from my belt and threw it at him. People surged away from it as though it were a bomb. It landed near the priest. “The creature of darkness will see you at noon, if you like.”
He didn’t move to pick it up.
“A minute or two ago,” I continued, “Tobias and I agreed to air some dirty laundry; he’s used the opportunity to make a speech. Well, here’s mine—and the laundry.”
I explained about Shada (and called her “Shada”) and my tenure at Barony Baret. Tobias’ bodyguards came limping up to his side again while I spoke. Tobias kept himself in check, visibly trying to master his rage. I went on about the episode with the Inquisitors grabbing Shada, torturing her, and my subsequent jailbreak. Churchbreak?
“Most people don’t trust me when they know what I am. Most people are afraid, because they don’t understand what I am and my place in the scheme of things. But the exceptional few who can rise above that and be my friends find I am a constant friend.
“How am I worse than any armed man?” I asked. “A man with a sword can kill you just as dead. A headsman will kill you even more quickly. And an Inquisitor will kill you more slowly than you wish.” I looked at every person in the crowd.
“I rescued my friend. Yes, I killed a couple of Inquisitors—because they had out the tongs and hot irons. Yes, I killed a couple of guards—because they tried to stop me. I didn’t want to, I didn’t like it, but I did it because Shada is my friend. How many of you would like to know your friends are being tortured by the Hand? Anyone?
“I don’t.
“I did something about it. If that’s what it means to be a creature of darkness, then I guess I am. I wish it wasn’t necessary, but I don’t regret it and I would do it again.” I looked at Tobias. “I could kill you right now. I probably should. I want to, but I won’t. You—you personally—haven’t done anything to make my heart want to kill you; you’ve just sent assassins to their deaths against me. I haven’t seen you do anything, so your actions don’t feel real.
“It would be sensible to kill you now—if only I could bring myself to do it. Consider yourself lucky I don’t kill anything without a good reason. But sooner or later, you’re going to make me angry enough. You’re going to make me very angry—enough to kill you.” I pointed a finger in his face. “Leave me alone. This is the only warning you get.”
Tobias tossed his head and barked laughter. I became certain he was more than half-crazy.
“The power of my faith protects—” he began, and I moved. I snatched the solar-disk pendant from around his neck, snapping the thin chain. With the other hand, I slapped him hard. It knocked him into the table and almost over it. There was a scream from the crowd and a massive indrawing of breath. Tobias’ cronies moved up and I stepped back. They stepped between us to defend him, but didn’t try to attack.
Come on! Please? Firebrand thought. Just the bodyguards. ONE bodyguard! Just a wound! Please?
No! I thought back. Not now, not here. Not unless they start it.
Awww.
Are all swords bloodthirsty, of is it just mine? I wonder if there are any pacifist swords? Then again, Firebrand is unique, and I really don’t want to try making another one to check. Besides, what would be the point of a pacifist sword?
Tobias righted himself and stood there, glaring at me between a pair of priests, a handprint on his face as livid as his robes.
“It’s not your faith,” I announced. “It’s your bodyguards—these priests, and the demons you conjure up in the name of the Devourer! Your faith doesn’t exist! And it certainly can’t protect you when you’re wrong.” I held up the disk, the medallion of his faith. I showed it first to him, then to the crowd. “If your faith is so powerful, why aren’t I burned?”
Tobias’ mouth worked, but no sound came out.
I flipped the medallion at him and he ducked aside from it; it clattered ringingly on the floor behind him. I turned away and marched down the steps to face the Duke. The space between my shoulder blades itched with the thought that something would be punching a hole between them, but I didn’t hear anyone behind me move. In front of me, however, there was a lot of staring and murmuring and not a little backing away. The Duke stood his ground, staring at me, and I bowed before him.
“I’m sorry, your Grace, for ruining your party.”
He nodded, looking dazed. “I accept your apology.”
“With your leave, lord, I will be going. I expect the Hand to try and murder me shortly.”
“Ah. By all means. Yes. Of course.”
I walked out. People got out of the way as though I were an air bubble moving through water. Slow march amid a low murmur of wonder, never looking back. I didn’t even pause to pick up my hurled glove.
Outside, I stood on the stairs and looked around. Nobody fetched Bronze. Well, I can understand why everybody in the ballroom might be a little preoccupied. I whistled piercingly and waited.
There was some minor cracking and banging before Bronze came into view. She saw me, stopped accelerating, slowed to a trot, stopped before me.
“Stall door?” I asked. She nodded. “Anybody hurt?” She flicked her tail as though shooing flies. “Well done.”
I told you, boss. She knows that you don’t like casualties. Unlike some of us!
“Thanks, Firebrand. I’m sorry you didn’t get to kill anyone yet tonight.”
Well… the night is young, right?
“There’s that,” I admitted. I stroked Bronze’s nose for a moment, then swung up into the saddle. Nobody tried to stop us as we headed out the gate. I glanced back, once, and saw there were quite a number of people watching from the windows and talking excitedly.
I kicked myself the whole way, thinking about what an idiot I am. I got into an argument with Tobias over public opinion, revealed a secret that can get me hunted down and killed by everybody, and left my worst enemy to do a closing speech before the undecided nobility.
Kick, kick, kick….
I left him alive. That was my big mistake. I should have killed him out of hand and been done with him! I must be the most insanely stupid man in the history of creation. Either that, or an outright coward. Maybe I am a coward. Maybe I just don’t have the balls to murder a man in cold blood.
Kick, kick, kick, kick….
We had no trouble getting out the gates between inner and middle city; they only worry about letting riffraff in. Riffraff can go out all they like. I rode slowly back to the inn, lost in my inner monologue of self-recrimination. Once there, I went up to my room, decided I shouldn’t take time to change, and started packing my stuff. As I did, I found T’yl was true to his word; there was a book waiting for me. I flipped through it, noted it was about the archway I recalled, and stuffed it into a bag.
There came a knocking at my door. I drew Firebrand and approached.
“Who is it?”
“The valet, sir,” came a voice through the wood. “A gentleman is downstairs who wishes to speak with you. He says his name is Linnaeus. He insists on speaking with you, sir.”
Oh, hell, damn, and spite. He deserved to be told in some other fashion than hearing Tobias and I in an argument. I should have told him, should have told him… more kicking!
/> “Send him up,” I answered. I felt tired, but finished putting my gear together. He deserved a chance to yell at me or shake a finger in my face or whatever. I felt bad about not trusting him, and a good yelling-at might help.
When he knocked, I let him in. He was red-faced and sweaty, as well as slightly out of breath. He had hurried to catch me before I left. I held the door open for him and he stepped in, shut it, and put a finger in my face.
“You!”
He’s pissed, boss.
No kidding.
“Yes, Linnaeus?” I answered, backing away from the finger. He stepped forward with me.
“You told me not of this! You kept it a secret! You lied to me!”
“I didn’t exactly lie. I didn’t tell you, that’s true—”
“You did not tell me you were a nightlord!”
“I know! I know! I’m sorry! I should have told you from the first—”
“Do you realize the things I could accomplish?” he demanded. “I’ve painted you as a Hero—yet you hide the fact of undeath from me!”
“And I should have told you! I admit it!”
“The stories! The ballads! The poems and plays! The last nightlord, returned to find justice for his slaughtered kin! The turning of the cycle! The coming of a single lord of night, seeking vengeance and justice for the persecution of his kind! The forging of a Hero in shadows and blood! The struggle of light and dark in the battle between nightlord and a church of fallen grace! The return of balance to a tottering world!
“Master bards live their lives without finding a tale worthy of their skills, and this—this you keep from me? Cruelty or stupidity, I know not, for I knew you to be neither cruel nor stupid—until now! Unjust! Oh, unjust and base, my lord! Have you any idea what I could have done with this knowledge?!”
I opened my mouth to apologize again and Firebrand mentally goosed me.
Boss! He’s not upset that you’re a nightlord! He’s upset that you didn’t let him use it in his work!
I blinked—and listened. Linnaeus was shouting by now, thoroughly on a roll. Oh, the things he could have done, the stories he could have told, the plays he could have written, and the songs he could have sung! If only I had trusted him! A palette of dark colors to work with, the challenge of painting light with dark on the canvas of public opinion! The sheer injustice of it all, to keep the most juicy and vital fact of my existence from the one who could exploit it to best advantage! I was a cruel, heartless monster for being so stingy, so untrusting! How, oh how could I have been such a mean-spirited, small-souled cretin!