by Garon Whited
I sat down and let him rant. It was one of, if not the best rant I have ever heard. He outlined my mental, spiritual, and emotional deficiencies in excruciating detail. He never paused, never stuttered, and never once resorted to anything resembling profanity. It was almost lyrical, the way he spoke and gestured. Instead of being insulted or feeling shamed by it, I was more lost in the sheer artistry of his command of language. It went on for nearly an hour without pause while I just watched and listened.
When he finally finished, he drew himself up and straightened his doublet, ran a hand through his hair. He calmed himself visibly and took a deep breath.
“My lord,” he said, formally, “I beg your pardon for this unseemly outburst. I was overwrought. I thank you for your indulgence and assure you it will not happen again.”
“Linnaeus… that was the most amazing chewing-out I’ve ever experienced. Thank you for bringing my attention to this error.”
“As my lord pleases,” he replied, bowing. “Will you slay me, now?”
“Not unless you’re absolutely determined I should. Now, sit down and join me. Moreover, please accept my apology for not telling you sooner. I was afraid you would be unwilling to work with me if you knew.”
He sat down opposite me at the table and dabbed at his forehead with a kerchief.
“My lord, you prove yet again that you are no wiser than other men.”
“Thanks. So, are you still willing to work for me?”
“Lord, the instruments you have crafted for me are wonders beyond all imagining. I would have sold my soul to darkness had I known such things were possible. To serve you, instead of the darkness, gratifies me greatly.”
“I’m glad you see a distinction. So… you do still want the job?” I asked.
“What better lord to serve than one who is a Hero and a legend? What few bards there are will seek you out like a tick seeks a hound, to drink from your exploits in much the same manner. I have sworn it: I am your man.”
“You don’t worry that I’m going to upheave the entire kingdom and put everyone under the rule of my dark and sinister hand?”
He shrugged. “If that is your will, then I will chronicle it. I do not think it is. You have shown by deeds that you have a good heart… and I have met you, known you. I have known ten thousand men, who spoke in all tones and with all manners. Some were good men, some were evil men, but most were merely men. Your manner and your speech are different from all of these, yet I can sense something in you that tells me you are more than most men. There is a heart within you, I think, that is larger and stronger than you know. It is the heart of an honest man, the heart of a kind man—the heart of a Hero. Living or undead, into light or into darkness, where a Hero leads, good must follow.”
I turned sideways, rested my elbow on the table and chin on my fist, and regarded the fireplace for a while. People keep telling me I’m a grand, good guy. Sadly, it’s usually women who just want to be friends, at least until recently. Do the people on this side of the magic door see things more clearly? Or just differently? Maybe it’s a cultural thing. Maybe I’ve finally found a place I fit, a hostile religious organization notwithstanding. Back home, I’m an ill-fitting gentleman with too much fantasy rolling around in his head and very sharp teeth. Here, I’m… I’m…
“All right,” I said, finally. “What’s a Hero?”
“A Hero is all those things we wish we could be.”
“Catchy. Explain.”
He thought for a long minute, trying to put it into words. “My lord, I wish I had the power to be gentle. If confronted by one who wishes my life, I must needs kill him or be killed. You stood before much of the assembled nobility of the kingdom and declared yourself a lord of night. You confronted your chief adversary, the Cardinal of the Hand, and had him in your power—yet you did not kill him.” Linnaeus shook his head. “It is not in me to let an enemy live if I have the opportunity to slay him. But I am not a Hero.
“Others wish for the strength of arm to fight for what is right. Others seek the wisdom to know right from wrong. Still more wish for the courage to take up the fight and right what is wrong. All these things can be found in a Hero.
“I had a brother, my lord. When his son was seven, I was granted leave from my loremaster to visit my nephew for the first time. Before, my brother was never one to whom I would extend much trust; he was not worthy of it. Yet when I saw him with his son, I saw how changed my brother had become. My nephew held only love and admiration for his father—so much so, the man began to be the father the little boy saw. He became all those things, gained all those qualities a father should have. He became the Hero his son believed him to be.”
He leaned forward, arms resting on the table. “No one declares you a Hero—or, more properly, everyone does. It is not like being knighted. A man can be trained to arms and instructed in the code and so be worthy of knighting. To be a Hero comes from within.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I’m also a nightlord.”
“Usually an honest one,” he responded, “and one with both kindness and justice in his heart.”
“Yes, but I’m a nightlord.”
“To be a nightlord, you first had to be a man.”
“Well, yes. But I kill people to preserve my own life.”
“So do I, if attacked.”
I frowned. “I drink their blood, Linnaeus.”
He shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Even Heroes are not perfect.”
“Ha! I’m not a Hero. You made everyone think I’m a Hero!” I accused.
“I?” he asked, looking innocent. “How could I do such a thing?”
“You sang your songs, you made up your tales, and you spread all the rumors and the stories!”
“What stories are those, my lord?”
“About the viksagi, for one!”
“Did you defend the kingdom from their invasion?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Did you not ride out alone to meet them?”
“I had Bronze with me. My horse. And Firebrand, my sword.”
“And did you slay the dragon they had brought?”
I could feel Firebrand looking at me. Did I really kill the dragon? Or did I just… change how it lived? How dead is dead? How dead is “sort of dead”? Come to that, how much of each of those men still lives in me, in some small way?
“Hmmm. I defeated it,” I replied, carefully. Firebrand chuckled agreement in my head.
“I lied about nothing, lord. I spoke only the truth of your deeds as I knew it. The people who listened, they decided. I never called you a Hero, not in any song or story. It is an appellation awarded to you by all others.”
I eyed him.
“You never called me a Hero? Ever?”
“Never in song or story,” he answered. “When asked for a song of the Hero Halar, I would sing of you—but who else could they mean?”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“I am pleased to be of service.”
I shook my head, sighing. “Even if that service is to call me a moron when I do stupid things?”
“Even so, my lord.”
“All right. Let’s have a long talk about what I’ve been doing and what I want to do… and you tell me where I’ve been stupid.”
It was well after sunup before we finished. I won’t go into how I’ve been stupid; I’m sure anyone can go back and pick things out. Let’s just say I have a new appreciation for how a smart man can still be a fool, okay? I don’t care to dwell on it.
When sunrise started, Linnaeus took a great interest in watching my morning transformation. I didn’t mind letting him watch, but I did ask him to keep quiet about nightlord biology. He agreed on the basis that it’s hard to serve one’s lord if you give away dangerous secrets. People tend to call that treason and behead you for it.
I suggested we find somewhere else to stay. Linnaeus disagreed.
“If, as you suspect, Tobias immediately takes action aga
inst you, it will not be here.”
“Why not?”
“What was your first impulse upon returning?”
“To get out.”
“And you think he knows this not?”
“A point,” I conceded.
“If he is seeking you—and he surely is, yes—then he is looking everywhere else.”
“All right.”
“Now, what is it you wish to do, my lord?”
“To be honest, I don’t really know. I want to kill Tobias. But I can’t.”
He looked perplexed. “Why not?”
So I had to try and explain that. I don’t think I did very well. I tried to tell him that cold-blooded murder is different from consuming a nearby person while I’m in the grip of a hunger. Or even carving someone apart when they try to knife me. It’s an emotional thing. I have to be emotionally involved when I kill someone. Intensely so.
“It guess… I guess I just don’t want to walk up to him and stick a knife in him. It’s too cold, too quick and simple.”
“You wish to feel his death,” Linnaeus said. “You wish to fight him and slay him, not merely murder him as any thief on the street might.”
“Yes,” I answered, softly. “That’s it exactly.”
“That is well. It would be most upsetting to find that you possess the cold, calculating intellect that can decree a man’s death without a shred of remorse or regr—”
There came a knocking at the door.
“That’s probably T’yl,” I said, quietly. “He’s a little early, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in a bit of a tizzy.”
“As you say, my lord.”
I answered the door in the usual way—Firebrand in hand. T’yl was, indeed, outside. There was no sign of the animated armor.
“T’yl,” I said, by way of greeting. “Do come in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped inside and I introduced him to Linnaeus. T’yl knew of him because of the instruments; Linnaeus knew him because… well, Linnaeus knew of him. I think Linnaeus knows everybody. Once we were seated, T’yl got right to business.
“I have heard of your debate with Tobias.”
I can blush during the day. I did.
“Yes?”
“I am uncertain if it was an act of the sheerest stupidity or brilliant audacity.”
I blinked at him for a moment. “Excuse me?”
He sighed, evidently exasperated.
“Your direct admission of your existence has caused considerable repercussions among people of all stations. The Council of the Church is in closed session to discuss, I doubt not, your personal exposé. Gevyn, the number-two man in the Hand, however, is the representative in the Council; I do not know what has become of Cardinal Tobias.”
Linnaeus leaned forward. “With your pardon, master magician, I believe he has dealt the Church a blow the like of which has not been seen in all its history.”
T’yl frowned. “How so?”
“Imagine, if you can, the look upon those faces when a nightlord struck the Cardinal of the Hand, itself! Worse, now see that the nightlord still stands while the Cardinal lies prostrate and at his mercy. The nightlord is unburned. The nightlord is not struck down. Moreover, the nightlord disdains to kill, and walks unhurried and unafraid from what should be his mortal adversary.”
T’yl’s face was a study.
“My lord has struck Cardinal Tobias,” Linnaeus went on, “but the blow has smote full on the crest of the Church. Like rotten beam struck just so, the cracking sounds begin. In time, the cracks will outrace the eye and the whole of the decaying edifice will crumble.”
T’yl nodded slowly. “No better strike could he have intended—if the truth of it can be made known,” T’yl added.
“Rumor is swifter than news, and the mouths of gossips are quicker than the pigeons,” Linnaeus said, smiling.
I held up a hand. “Hold it. If this wasn’t a boneheaded thing to do, then get busy on exploiting it. If you think you can make this work for us…?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then get out there and start stirring things our way. I won’t keep you.”
“As you say, my lord.” He rose from the table.
“Just keep me informed of… whatever I’m supposed to live up to. Okay?”
“My lord need but continue as he always has,” Linnaeus replied, bowing. “By your leave, my lord. Master magician. Good day.”
We waited until he was out of the room and the door shut once again. I’m glad I have a PR man that loves his work.
“So how does this affect us?” I asked.
“Us?” T’yl asked. “Or you?”
“Let’s worry about me later. How does this affect our working relationship?”
“Hmm. I do not see that anything material has changed.”
I leaned forward. “I think it has.”
T’yl shifted uneasily. “How do you mean?”
“Everybody knows. There is a nightlord in the world—one the Church hasn’t been able to kill. This puts everything into a cocked hat.”
“Beg pardon?”
Damn metaphors.
“This makes everything change,” I tried. “Look, you wouldn’t openly take sides for fear of public opinions. The nobles get bent out of shape and magicians have problems. The Church rouses the people and the magicians have problems. The magicians argue with each other and the magicians all have problems!
“Right now, you have an opportunity made of solid gold! People don’t know what to think, and the Church is cracking along its faction lines. Right now—and only now—can you make a major difference. If you, the magicians, throw your weight on my side of this, you can snap the Church and earn major kudos with the nobility and the people.”
“What of those of the people whose faith is strong?” he asked. “The pious are not few in number.”
“If their faith is strong, they’ll still find a way to talk to their god,” I answered. “That’s my problem, if it is one.”
“And the ritualists?”
“Are they better at their craft than master magicians?” I asked.
T’yl flushed. “You imply we are cowards,” he stated.
“I do not. I merely point out they are not so much of a problem as you might think. Besides, they have to believe their spells will work, not so? Fully and completely?”
“Since they do not use standard magical formulae, the power of their belief is vital to any spell,” he agreed.
“If we crack the Church like a dropped wineglass, how well will they hold their faith?”
T’yl was silent for a long minute. He settled in his chair and steepled his fingers, lost in thought. I waited. The fact he was thinking about it was a very good sign. Very good indeed.
“If I can persuade some share of us to join with you in earnest,” he asked, “what would you have us do?”
“Communications,” I replied, succinctly. “I’m sure you can cast a spell that will be sensed by any magician—or wizard!—worth the name. Give them a vision, tell them what transpires. That will create more rumors—rumors we want—than even the fertile ground of housewives at the fences.”
“That is all?” he asked, not batting an eye.
“For the most part, yes. If there turns out to be a thousand members of the Hand who want to make a war of it, a massed strike of thunderbolts might be helpful to soften them up before I go in to clean house. But until we see which way the Church is toppling, it’s hard to say where I want the cushions and where I want the spikes, if you follow me.”
“I think I do.”
“So what do you think of the idea? Can you talk the rest of the magicians into it? Will you, I should say.”
T’yl got up and paced.
“Understand me true,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. “We are not well-loved, for we each contain great power. Yet, for all our power, there are few of us. We seldom work together, and few enough are even willing to see the next generation of magici
ans grow in strength and skill. There is great distrust for the Hand among us, but we are hardly unified on this matter. None of us is so powerful as to command the rest.”
He stopped pacing and looked at me. “You are a nightlord and a wizard. If you were to become a magician, if you were to be trained, then you might dominate us all.”
“So you don’t trust me.”
“How can we?” he demanded. “You are part-man, part-demon, and your spells are as strange as your heritage!” He looked shocked at his own statement and clamped his mouth shut, lips in a white line.
“You didn’t bring your armor,” I observed, quietly.
“That is true,” he admitted, straightening from his slightly-hunched pacing. “I did not think I would have need of it.”
“You don’t. But doesn’t that tell you something?”
“That I am a fool?”
I slapped the table and made the glassware rattle. “No, dammit! Not about you! About me! I’ve recently had my whole list of deeds thrown at me by a very talented bard—hell, I’ve recently been told I’m a Hero! How elaborate a deception do you think one nightlord can pull off? If you think I can fake what I’ve done so it looks good enough to be Hero-worthy, then why stop there? What would I need you for? I’m not that blasted talented at lying to people! I’m a teacher, not a politician!”
T’yl stared at me for long moments. He nodded slightly. The gears in his head were turning.
“There comes a time,” he said, as he sat down again, “that any man worthy of the name must make a decision. To stand in the middle, to never move one way or another, is foolish at best and suicidal at worst. We can never know everything, and so we must sometimes guess at the right course of action.”
He set his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together. He met my eyes and nodded.