Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  I was damned glad to let go of it, though.

  This left me alone with Bob, Beltar, the sub-priests, a tired choir, and the pair of grey sashes on anti-assassination detail. Bob looked impressed, which is unusual. Elves are usually pretty good at hiding their feelings. Then again, at night I can see the spirit inside someone easier than I can see their flesh. It’s kind of an unfair advantage.

  “Beltar?”

  “My lord.”

  “Where’s Seldar?”

  “Sleeping, I believe. He anticipates a busy morning.”

  “Sound thinking. Thank you for all your work. Give my thanks to everyone and commend them for a job well done.”

  “It is our honor to be of service, my lord,” he assured me. I turned to Bob.

  “Dread Lord?” he asked, anticipating a question.

  “Walk with me,” I suggested. He took it as an order and fell into step beside me. I wandered in the direction of my scrying room while the choir line shifted from sitting to the one-knee position until I passed by.

  I thought long and hard while we walked in silence. Bob was probably the most capable and competent lord in all of Rethven or Karvalen. He was likely to be the most ruthless, callous, and treacherous, too—at least, from a human point of view. Elves have their own type of honor, but they don’t care to share it with humans. It’s a lot like a human keeping his word to cockroaches. Even if he gives his word, how long will he need to keep it? And if he breaks his word, how long will it bother him?

  “You’re a survivor, and an impressive one,” I told him, because I was impressed. The elf beside me was several thousand years old, at least. Considering the dangers of simply existing in this world, that’s worthy of some respect. “Are there many as old as you?”

  “I do not know. He created us in our thousands as his servants and his household. Many were lost on the eldest moons, although many may live still upon the one which yet remains. Of those who descended on dragon wings to this playground of the Heru, surely some should yet survive.”

  “Someday, when I have time, I’m going to get you to tell me all about it.”

  “At your will, Dread Lord.”

  “Good. Now, you understand what I’m trying to do with my kingdom?”

  “My understanding is you wish to establish a dynasty and see it rule the realm.”

  “Yes, partly. I want the place governed in accordance with certain principles. You’re familiar with the ideas and ideals I laid down for the knights? Noble service cheerfully rendered, courtesy, honor, loyalty, bravery—all that stuff?”

  “I am quite familiar with it, Dread Lord. They never cease to discuss it amongst themselves. It is a key feature to distinguish the knights of the old guard from the killers of the new.”

  I decided not to be distracted by asking where he would have heard such discussions. Time was pressing.

  “I’m glad you can tell the difference. And, while I recognize individual humans are beneath your notice—short-lived, short-sighted, and ephemeral—a kingdom and someday, perhaps, an empire can live long enough and be complex enough to be interesting. At least, I think so. What is your opinion on the matter?”

  “My reasoning agrees with yours,” Bob admitted.

  “That’s excellent. I want you to keep an eye on the place. See what you can accomplish within the parameters I set.”

  “That will be,” he began, and paused, searching for a word. “Challenging,” he decided.

  “Will it keep you from being bored?”

  “There is that,” he admitted. “It could be diverting for a thousand years or so.”

  “Especially if you have to work behind the scenes, never revealing your true purpose.”

  “Such is my preference, Dread Lord, if it matters.”

  “Bob, understand something. The Demon King didn’t much care what you think or feel. I do. I may not be able to accommodate you, but I would prefer to give you every opportunity to be amused, even happy. I try to give you as much autonomy as possible for that reason. If you have a problem or a request, don’t hesitate to come to me with it. I’ll do my best to help you.”

  We walked in silence for the rest of the way to my workroom. For some reason, Bob seemed oddly disturbed. Not upset, exactly. Slightly confused? Uncertain? Maybe puzzled, or mystified. He didn’t seem actually unhappy about whatever was bothering him, though.

  I paused at the door to the workroom.

  “Go ahead and get started on everything,” I told him. “Call me when you have something to report, please.”

  “Dread Lord?”

  “Yes?”

  “There is something, if you will consent to hear it.”

  “How can I refuse? Come in and we’ll talk.”

  Once we were settled in chairs, Bob rubbed the tops of his thighs with the palms of his hands, almost as though his palms were sweating.

  “What’s on your mind, Bob?”

  “Dread Lord, may I address the issue of the sun without offending you?”

  “Speak your mind,” I invited.

  “You are familiar, of course, with the daily miracle of the sun. Yet, you have been beyond the Gate of Shadows for some time—”

  “Hold it. Maybe you better explain to me what you mean by the ‘miracle of the sun’.”

  “Why, the creation of the sun every morning.”

  I felt a headache coming on. The thing vanishes at sunset, so, naturally, it is created every morning for the sunrise. Of course. I half-realized it, intellectually, when I saw the recorded sunset. Having it confirmed was not as reassuring as I hoped.

  “Okay, we’re clear on that,” I sighed. “Just making sure. Out of curiosity, do you know why it disappears every evening?”

  “If it were to fall too far, its course would cause it to strike the world where the firmament touches. Or so I assume, Dread Lord.”

  “Not an unreasonable hypothesis,” I agreed, silently adding, For this astronomically screwy place. “Go on.”

  According to Bob, humans don’t pay enough attention to the world. They don’t live in it for very long, so they don’t see the changes. Originally—and I use the word advisedly—the sun charted a course over the Spire of the Sun, from one end of the Mountains of the Sun to the other. It didn’t vary; it ran in a fixed line, like a groove in the sky, and higher. At the same time, the Shining Desert at the foot of the mountains was less hot and arid, while the frost-line in the north was much farther north. The world was a more temperate and friendly place, in general.

  Once the Heru did their thing to prevent cheating, the world started to wear out. Like a stitched-together garment, it was coming apart at the seams. The path of the sun, varying to the north and south, may have provided seasons, but this wasn’t according to the design. In the beginning of the world, there were no seasons!

  “There are other signs,” Bob went on, “and they concern me greatly. In a mere ten thousand years, we might see far greater calamities. What if the world ocean were to find a crack in the lands between it and the Precipice? Or if the sun should continue to sink lower in its arc across the sky? We will see these troubles upon us in only a handful of millennia, perhaps in mere centuries.”

  Leave it to the immortal being to think long-term.

  “I admit these could be problems.” I kept my Dread Lord hat on while I spoke. “The livestock I have here could be difficult to move. Do you have a suggestion?”

  “Only in some small ways, Dread Lord.”

  “By all means.”

  “First, if it is feasible, may I suggest removing some select members of your property to some other realm? One where they may breed and multiply without danger from the unraveling world?”

  “Good thought. Go on.”

  “Second… and somewhat more troublesome… is the idea you might preserve all your property by repairing the world.”

  I’ll give this to Bob: He thinks big.

  “I’m not sure how I can do that, Bob. Remember, the sun and I d
on’t always see eye to eye.”

  “There is the possibility, Dread Lord, you would not need to.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “As servants of Rendu, we elves were not privy to the councils of the Heru. We know Rendu, greatest of artificers, wove the fabric of the world. The other Heru only adorned it with threads of their own. Yet, Rendu could repair his handiwork, if he were here.”

  “And, if I recall correctly, he’s presently self-confined with the other Heru until the game they’ve set in motion finishes, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “And they aren’t coming out until…?”

  “One race upon the face of the world is supreme over all the other races.”

  “So, to get the Heru to come out, we have to kill or capture all the other pieces on the game board. Meaning, one race has to take over the world, thoroughly and completely. That’s the victory condition?”

  “I believe so, yes, but I know of no creature who knows the rules of the great game of the Heru.” He paused for a moment and corrected himself. “It is possible one of Rendu’s dragons might know, but it is only a possibility.”

  “Why am I not liking where this is going? No, don’t answer that. Instead, tell me what you have in mind.”

  “From the way the world is slowly coming apart, I infer the Heru did not anticipate their game going on so long. Perhaps it would be not unreasonable to query them upon this matter. Perhaps they might agree to a brief interlude, much as a long-drawn-out game among mortals might allow for a… a pause for a snack, perhaps.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose. It’s also possible they aren’t paying much attention.”

  “Dread Lord?”

  “Imagine a series of games in the arena. Some of them are exciting. Others are less so. It’s possible the events of the last thousand years—or ten thousand years—simply aren’t interesting enough to hold their attention and they’re amusing themselves in other ways so the world can develop new and interesting changes.”

  “Then,” Bob mused, “it becomes even more imperative to draw their attention to these matters.”

  “Possibly. On the other hand, maybe it was set up this way. If it sun winds up skating around the rim of the world or crashing into it, that could be the time limit. They tally up the points and declare a winner,” I suggested. Bob’s eyes widened. I sighed. “Did you really never think of that before?”

  “No. It never occurred to me.”

  “And I thought I was the one with a slow leak in my head. All right. If it’s a timer, we need to know. If it’s not, they need to be told to wind the world. Either way, we have to get their attention. Any idea how?”

  “I know of no way other than to go to the House of the Heru.”

  “Seems obvious. Where is this House of the Heru?”

  “I believe other races know it as the Spire of the Sun.”

  “Okay, tell me about it.”

  “Again, Dread Lord, I must admit I am but a servant.”

  “Grain of salt. Got it. Talk.”

  “Rendu, born of the chaos beyond the firmament, built the firmament. He wove the structure of the world. He crafted the moons. He made the eternal elves and breathed fire into dragons. And when his fellows demanded a new game, he created the Spire of the Sun. I believe, as most of the First Elves believe, that the Heru reside there, watching the world from their unreachable seat—the House of the Heru.”

  “Hold it. You’ve used that phrase before. What are the First Elves?”

  “The elves eternal, formed from the manifold darkness beyond the world, drafted and forged by Rendu, the Artificer.”

  “And the other elves?”

  “Lesser elves, created by elves,” Bob clarified. “I was created by Rendu. Since my race does not reproduce as the other races do, when our numbers began to dwindle, we bent our craft to the duplication of ourselves. The race of men is most useful in this regard. Only with their blood and flesh have we found any success at all.”

  “Ah, yes. Elvish reproduction. But I’ve seen a number of elves—how shall I put this—of obvious male and female sorts. If you don’t reproduce, ah, biologically, there’s no reason for genders.”

  “And yet, some of us one would find difficult to categorize,” he pointed out, gesturing at himself.

  “True. Still, you use gender-specific pronouns.”

  “In this tongue, yes. Elvish had no words for ‘he’ or ‘she’ until we encountered other race. There were only various forms of ‘it,’ denoting another elf, a lesser creature, or an object.”

  I didn’t have anything to say to that. It changes a lot of what I thought I knew about elves. Well, these elves. They’re immortal, depend on another race for progeny, have no sexes and no sex. This Rendu might be artistic, but I’m not sure he was terribly practical. Come to think of it, artists do tend to be more dreamers than pragmatists. A lot of engineers are, too, now I think on it. Maybe it’s to be expected.

  Then again, if you create something capable of easy self-replication—like humans, orku, or bacteria—you’re going to wind up with an awful lot of them in a very short time. Maybe that was his point in not giving elves the reproductive option.

  On the other hand, I intended to give them one.

  “Are you still kidnapping pregnant human women to transform the unborn into elves?”

  “They are still the only method we have of creating new elves, Dread Lord.”

  “I think I can do better.”

  “Salishar delivered your message, Dread Lord. You wish to improve upon our transformational magic?”

  “Possibly, but I need more information on how elves work. Send me a couple of elves, please, for examination. A painless examination. I only want to look at them, not take them apart.”

  “Of course, Dread Lord.”

  “And try to find two as opposite as possible on the human spectrum of male and female. I want to compare the differences.”

  “It shall be done.”

  “Good. Now, what were we talking about before we were sidetracked?”

  “Rendu created the world for the game of races. The Heru set in motion the races of creatures in the world and now observe without interfering, to see whose creatures are the greatest.”

  “Right. I’m up to speed on the idea. And you think if someone knocks on the door and asks them to fix the world, they’ll do it?”

  “Perhaps. I know of no other power that might.”

  “What, exactly would I have to do?”

  “Forgive me, Dread Lord, but I do not know. No one who has ever sought to reach the Spire of the Sun has ever returned.”

  “Well, of course they haven’t.” I sighed. I hate clichés, especially potentially deadly ones. “Tell you what. You find out what I’d have to do. Then I’ll decide.”

  “As you wish, Dread Lord.”

  “It would solve the problem of sending you to the sky-orb, wouldn’t it?”

  “Lord?”

  “I mean, if Rendu comes out of the Spire, he’s likely to gather up all his scattered toys and take them back, isn’t he?”

  “Who can say?” Bob asked. “No one knows the heart of the Heru.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He placed a hand over his heart, went to one knee, and bowed his head. I sent him on his way.

  In Mochara, lookouts eyeballed the incoming fleet and reported. I was in my scrying room, looking over the sand table and arranging mirrors on their stands. I like having a communications center even if I’m not going to be involved in the battle.

  The invasion fleet consisted of eighteen ships. Most were two or three-masted things. The odd one was a barge-like boat with four small masts at the corners. It had triangular sails and a roof-like covering over most of the deck. This one seemed odd, even by my standards. It was basically a shack on a raft. A troop transport, maybe? A supply vessel? A private transport for a VIP? If I could have penetrated the scrying defenses, I would have. I was mightily curious an
d quite thoughtful.

  The truly unusual feature of this mysterious ship were the smokestacks. Twin metal pipes, like overgrown stove chimneys, pumped out enough smoke for a Los Angeles cop to write them a ticket. A steamship, perhaps? Was the Demon King interested in building steam engines? Maybe. I didn’t see how the thing propelled itself through the water with just the four sails, nor did I see a wake suitable for a screw propeller. Could it have a paddlewheel under the roofed-over area instead of on the sides? I wasn’t sure exactly how it would work, but with enough trial and error—or a decent nautical engineer—I’m sure it could be done.

  Was it a prototype warship? Or a cargo vessel? Well, we would doubtless find out.

  In the meantime, I thought about the fleet as a whole. What could I do to eighteen ships? Any one of them I could probably handle. At night, I could brute-force a gate belowdecks, bash my way through a lot of wood, and walk along the seabed to the shore. I could probably target a sonic pulse at one, rupture every eardrum, shatter any hope of concentrating, bash down any existing shields, and inflict whatever magical harm I cared to. With some gravity-altering spells and some preparation, I might be able to literally suck one of them down like flushing a cork in a toilet. And so on. There were about as many ways to sink ships as there were ships.

  But I was in Karvalen. The logistics problem was a small-scale replica of the one I gave to Johann. He had to reach across universes to bother me. I only had to reach across miles. Johann had enough power to reach me… at least, once in a while. I had enough power to reach the ships… once in a while.

  I hate being left out like this. I can be useful, dammit! But noooooo, just because I’m considered valuable and important and borderline irreplaceable, I have to sit here and look at everything remotely.

  Sometimes I hate Seldar. No, I take that back. Sometimes I hate Seldar for being right, and I hate myself for realizing it. Kelvin wouldn’t do this to me.

  And I’m lying to myself. Kelvin would, too. So would Raeth. Bouger might not, but he was always willing to get into a fight and never saw much reason not to. I wish they were all here. I miss them, even if they wouldn’t let me go to the defense of the city.