Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “In your case, you’re still alive. Moving you or Morrelin is the one bucket at a time problem. You can probably manage this for each other—at worst, you might need a helper. Unplug a connector inside your flesh, plug it into the same spot in the new body, and keep repeating until its done. Obviously, you don’t want to do this yourself, but with a couple of friends it should be pretty easy.”

  “And will this process be painful?” Morrelin asked. “Pain is often a terrible stress on a body, even if the pain is purely spiritual. Can a body—especially the original, presumably ancient body—be killed too soon via this procedure?”

  “Hmm. Another good question. I really don’t know,” I admitted.

  “Yet, you feel certain this one-by-one method will work?”

  “Reasonably certain. I’d be surprised if it didn’t.”

  “I understand.” Norad and Morrelin looked at each other and moved off to discuss. T’yl, our part-time laboratory model, hopped up from the table and sat in a chair next to me.

  “You are surprisingly good at this,” he told me.

  “I’m a vampire. I deal with flesh and spirit all the time.”

  “No, I mean you are good at explaining things.”

  “I have stunning visual aids. And I used to be a teacher.”

  “Did you?” he asked, eyebrows rising. “I did not know that. Or if I did, I’ve forgotten.”

  “It’s true. I taught… well, I taught a different style of magic in my younger days.” I remembered being in front of a class and looking them over, picking out by eye the ones taking a class because it was a requirement for something else, the ones with an interest, and the ones who would drop the class within the week. After a few semesters of teaching, you could tell. “It seems a long time ago,” I reflected.

  “My days of teaching at the Academy were also a long time ago,” T’yl admitted. “Aside from a few private lessons, I’ve given up teaching. I suspect I lack the talent.”

  “I sometimes lack the patience,” I admitted. “Answering the same questions, over and over, really starts to wear.”

  “It does. You might try taking an apprentice and teaching everything you know, then finding another one. By then, the same old questions will be so long ago, they become new.”

  “I’ve got one,” I told him. “She’s off running an errand at the moment.”

  “Ah, Mary, your concubine.”

  “That’s her. But she would object to being called a concubine. Try to keep in mind she’s a consort.”

  “Of course. Of course.”

  Norad and Morrelin rejoined us.

  “We think,” Morrelin said, “we could do this, but we will need help in devising a way to see, manipulate, and join the channels of the soul. Would Your Majesty consent to assist us in this?”

  “Sure. We can work out something. If all else fails, I might be able to automate the process.”

  “Automate?”

  “Make something to do it without requiring a lot of skill?” I tried. “For example, imagine two beds. Put an empty body on one side and an elderly body on the other. The bed with the elderly body identifies the soul-strands, pulls them tight, wraps them around the mounting points in the empty body, then cuts the soul free. Now it’s mounted to the body next to it, rather than the one it’s actually in, and migrates over. The lesser strands get stretched across the intervening distance and a magical scalpel blade cuts them, slowly. This severs the last connection with the original body and allows a few lesser strands at a time to lock on to the new one. Now the soul is in its new home and can settle in.”

  The three magicians traded looks, combining eagerness, concern, and fear.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You are describing one of the darker artifacts of the Empire,” T’yl told me.

  “Am I? I made this up on the spot, thinking about how to make the process easier.”

  “I believe you, but perhaps we might wish to consider how such an artifact would be viewed.”

  “Like something built by the Demon King?” I guessed.

  “There are many who still think of you that way,” T’yl admitted. Norad and Morrelin said nothing, trying for inscrutable and mostly succeeding.

  “I get it. Well, the double-bed idea requires an empty body in the first place. I don’t have a supply of empty elves, but I’m working on it.”

  “Yes, I was told you mentioned something about it. May one inquire?” Norad asked.

  “I’m hoping to grow elves.”

  “Like trees?”

  “Sort of, I guess, but faster. The point being, I think I can… how to put this? I can enchant a box to do what a woman does, growing a baby. If I then put a piece of an elf in the box, it will grow the piece into a whole new elf, but without anyone inside it. Then we can take the elf out—the empty elf—and you can put someone into it.”

  “I see,” he answered, faintly. “This sounds impossible, but if you think it can be done…” he trailed off.

  “I get that a lot. People like to use the word ‘impossible’ when they don’t understand something. I’m confident it can be done,” I assured him. “I started the project to help out my elf servants. They have a hard time reproducing, as I’m sure you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” Norad admitted.

  “I’ve heard something about it,” Morrelin said. “They steal pregnant women, I believe, for their babies?”

  “That’s right. But don’t worry about it. If I get this working right, I’m pretty sure you can have all the immortal elf-bodies you want and the elves can stop swiping human females. Speaking of which,” I turned to T’yl. “Everything still working well for you?”

  “Eminently satisfactory, Your Majesty. I’ve made a few alterations for cosmetic reasons—those are ongoing, as you can see—but the basic structure seems to be working perfectly.”

  “Good. You’re the first one to do this, so if you notice anything unusual, you let me know immediately, all right? I don’t want to find out you’re actually aging on the inside, but you ignored little aches and pains, thinking them unimportant.”

  “I would be most upset by this, myself,” T’yl assured me. “I will be ever-vigilant.”

  “Thanks. Now, gentlemen, if you will follow…” I gestured to one of my current bodyguards.

  “Sir Brannon,” he supplied.

  “Sir Brannon, he will show you to guest quarters.”

  “Gentlemen?” Sir Brannon inquired. “This way, please.”

  Once they were gone, I went to my own quarters. Sunset was starting and I wanted to be under a waterfall for it. Messengers followed me the moment I set foot outside the lab, though. Torvil wanted to know when we were headed to Carrillon. Beltar wanted to know if he could come along. Seldar wanted a meeting with me and with Dantos to settle the arrangements for Karvalen while both I and the Baron were away.

  I sent the messengers back with replies. We would probably be going through later tonight. Yes, Beltar could come with us. If Seldar and Dantos would meet me in my chambers, we could have that meeting.

  Mirrors are a fine and dandy thing for communications. If you want to talk to someone, they’re fast. They’re immediate. Messengers, on the other hand, will go out and find someone even if they don’t have a mirror. They also have a built-in delay, which is sometimes handy. If you don’t want to interrupt, send a messenger. He won’t mind waiting. It beats running around, trying to track down the recipient.

  And, from my point of view, it’s sometimes very handy to send someone instead of call. It gives me a chance to do things before they even get the message, much less respond. I got through sunset that way.

  One of the absolute best things about being an undead monster is the regeneration. I didn’t realize how awful I still felt until my regeneration fixed it all. An unseen weight lifted off me. My insides relaxed, letting loose the tight-wound tension they’d had most of the day. The headache sitting behind my eyes and just under my ears vanished.
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  I’ve never been so happy to be dead. Those lightning-fast resurrections are awful. No wonder there’s a three-day wait for non-undead. It takes that long just to recover from the onset of life.

  After rinsing thoroughly and toweling off, I dressed again and came out to meet with Seldar and Dantos. Seldar wanted to come along to Carrillon and leave Dantos in charge of Karvalen.

  “Dantos? What do you think?” I asked.

  “My lord, I am willing to do whatever you think I should do.”

  “Do you think you can keep Karvalen running smoothly—no, wait. I phrased that badly. Do you think you can guide Karvalen through any difficulties so it can continue to run smoothly while I’m gone?”

  He thought about it. I think he was considering the difference between the ways I phrased it.

  “I believe I can, my lord.”

  “Good. Then you are now the master of the palace and the city. I’ll go even farther. You are in charge of everything involving Karvalen on this side of the Eastrange.”

  “My lord?”

  “The Baron is in Carrillon, or headed there, so you inherit the city, not just the undermountain. At least, until he gets back to run the city again. I’ll get on the mirror and inform his staff. But you’re also the perfect man for the job of keeping tabs on what’s going on in Mochara and all along the canals. You understand the people of the plains far better than I ever will, and everyone here respects you.”

  He did the thing the people of the plains do, kind of a kowtowing, face-on-floor thing, hiding his eyes with his hands. He said something in his native tongue and repeated it in Rethven. Or Rethvenese. Or whatever debased dialect of the old Imperial tongue we were using.

  “Night has come and night has passed, and been good to us. Thank you, my lord.”

  “You’re welcome, if that’s the right thing to say. Now get up. A knight never goes to his knees, much less his face. And why are you calling me ‘my lord’?”

  “Is it not more appropriate?” he asked, anxiously, rising. “I am a man of the plains and you are a lord of night—the Lord of Night.”

  “And you feel it’s more appropriate to address me as a figure of religious awe than a figure of political clout?”

  “Yes. If it does not offend you.”

  “I’ll permit it. Just don’t do it too often.”

  “Yes. As you say. Sire.”

  “You think you can handle things?”

  “I believe I can, if it is made clear I possess the authority to do so.”

  I fetched a crystal, had it record my endorsement of his authority, and handed it to him. He bowed deeply and accepted it. Seldar handed me a mirror with a call to the Baron’s house already on it. I explained and actually got backtalk.

  “Your Majesty, the Baron left strict orders for his chancellor—”

  “I have no doubt his chancellor will be very helpful to Sir Dantos. Why, I would be surprised if Sir Dantos didn’t have him continue with his usual duties. I would also be surprised to find Sir Dantos executed him for disobeying the King’s command, obstructing the King’s appointed agent, or interfering in the business the King has ordered carried out. Surprised,” I added, “but not upset.” This caused the guy on the other end to stand up straighter and salute.

  “I understand, Your Majesty. I will immediately inform the chancellor.”

  “And have him come up here, personally, to report to Sir Dantos. Immediately.”

  “It will be done, Your Majesty.”

  I shut down the mirror and handed it back to Seldar.

  “Be nice,” I cautioned Dantos, “but firm.”

  “I will make every effort, my lord.”

  “Does this mean,” Seldar asked, “I shall accompany you to Carrillon?”

  “How can I pass up having my first three knights with me again?” I asked. He smiled and nodded. “Now, if you’ll get Torvil and Beltar, I have to run an errand. Meet me in the gate room and we’ll step through.”

  “As you command, Dread Lord.”

  “You cut that out.”

  “As you wish,” he agreed, suppressing a smile. “May I suggest wearing your armor, however? It would be appropriate to be more formally attired before we arrive.”

  “Good thinking.” I dressed and the two of them gave me unnecessary help with the suit. It did go faster with their assistance, I admit, but I’m a big boy and can dress myself. Sometimes my socks even match. Seldar handed me my helmet while Dantos finished adjusting my swordbelt. They pronounced me kingly and I made a rude noise in reply.

  I hurried down to the real gate room and the tiny ring gate. With the possible time differentials involved, I wanted to see if Diogenes was ready for a cell sample while I still had Bob on hand. I opened the mini-gate, saw the monitoring device, and closed the mini-gate.

  Presumably, Diogenes can see and hear in the library, now. That’s a good sign. But how am I to communicate with him in a hurry? I could open a gate, go through, and maintain a ring-gate connection while we talk, I suppose, but it takes a lot of power.

  I wished again for my skinphone. It was a very nice, a high-tech cellular phone device. With the equipment Diogenes has available, he might be able to set up a transceiver to link with it by sending signals through a ring gate.

  There’s a thought. If he’s got suitable equipment, could he send me a cell phone or similar device? Wait, better thought. Could I take a handheld communicator—a smartphone of any sort—build in a micro-sized ring gate…

  Wait, wait, wait. Okay. Picture this. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, put a transceiver. You place a call to it and it relays your signal. Add to this thing some dedicated ring gates with the interior diameter—the portal size—no larger than a pinprick. Direct a high-intensity radio link at that pinprick, maybe even a laser communications unit, so you have a high-speed data connection.

  If this transceiver station—call it an inter-universal cell tower—has other dedicated ring gates, we can build the remote ring gates into things like a smartphone or wrist computer or whatever. I whip out my smartphone, hit speed dial, and the micro-gate in the phone opens up to the inter-universal cell tower—the ICT. The ICT computer gets the signal, opens its own micro-gate to the target phone, and relays the data stream through that gate. I suddenly have a voice-and-video call from Nowhere, Anyland, to Otherplace, Somewherelseville.

  Holy crap, I think I’ve just had the idea for inter-universal cell phones. Can I expand this into an inter-universal internet? Yes. Put a pair of dedicated micro-gates together, one in Diogenes’ current world and one in Mary’s world, link a computer through the micro-gate with a laser link, or maybe just thread a fiber optic line through it, and you have computers in different universes talking to each other. If they’re connected to the internet on both sides and connected to each other, each could be a literal gateway server.

  Google might need some new search algorithms.

  On the other hand, I might also be getting ahead of myself. I don’t know what effects, if any, long-term open gates have on inter-universal relations. There may be a maximum practical time they can be open. They may alter the time flow between the two. They may leak Things from around the edges. I should really experiment with this idea before rushing into production.

  Having an inter-universal smartphone might be a good start, though, if only to see how badly it goes wrong. That doesn’t call for permanent gate-links.

  But, for now, I need a way to ask Diogenes if he’s ready for a cell sample. He needs to have the facilities to preserve the cells, at the very least. Does he need facilities to freeze them? I’m not sure how futuristic biological sciences work.

  Well, fine. I can magic this. I can create an illusion of me, complete with sound. I can even include scrolling text at the bottom in case his sound reception is spotty. Since I’m casting the spell from here, powering it isn’t a problem, and I’m not opening a person-sized gateway, so for sending the spell there, power still isn’t a problem.


  I readied my spells, recorded my message, opened the ring gate, and popped the illusion spell through it. It engaged normally when it landed in the library and played back for the monitoring equipment.

  I closed the gate again. It would be a while before Diogenes could work out a way to reply. He’s a clever AI. He’ll figure something out. I tugged on the ring-gate and the mountain slithered back the stone in which it was mounted. I put the thing in a pocket for later. If I wanted to check on his progress, I didn’t want to have to come back to my personal gate room every time to do it.

  Upstairs, Bronze was already waiting for me. She stood in front of the public gate with the air of someone who is willing to stand there indefinitely and won’t mind it a bit. She’s much more patient than I am. Torvil and Seldar were also waiting, of course. I also expected the dozen men—some giant, some more regular-sized—wearing crossed red and grey baldrics. Each had a dragon’s-head pin in the center of the chest, where the colors crossed. My bodyguards, obviously; the winners of the sicaricudo contests. Perhaps “expected” is too strong a word. I knew, in an abstract sense, these people were likely to be present. The King is going back to the Palace, after all.

  Everyone else was a bit of a shock, though.

  I did not expect another fifty or so grey sashes, all also carrying sword and shield, as well as a few carrying poles or pikes. Beltar was present and seemed in charge of these.

  I also didn’t expect Bob, Alliasian, and Filiathes, either, but I should have. He’s the Duke of Vathula, after all, and those two are the only other elves in the city—I think. Come to think of it, keeping him handy would be useful. I still need to give Diogenes an elf cell sample and Bob is the only source I have.

  But why were there so many shadow knights?

  “Beltar?” I asked, standing in the entryway. Beltar worked his way over to the entryway while I wondered if the room was getting gradually larger over time. I thought it might be. Maybe the mountain noticed the amount of traffic through the place. The hallway did seem more in line with the gate on the far wall. Or was the gate gradually moving in line with the hallway?