Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

I shook his sword in his face.

  “This! This is a sword. It’s not a sharp piece of metal! It’s a symbol. It’s a symbol of power—of the power to turn life into death! Cutting, maiming, and murder! It’s not a toy. It’s a responsibility and a terrible privilege! Yet, you wave it around as though it’s a magic wand to get you anything you want—like a bandit, not a prince!

  “I’ve got news for you, kid. You aren’t ready for a sword. You aren’t worthy of one. And you presume—you presume—to the Crown of Karvalen! A crown, a symbol even more powerful than a sword. A symbol that commands swords! That’s an even more profound and terrible responsibility! One you do not understand and one you should not want—yet you claim it, all ignorance and arrogance!”

  I sighed and tried to calm down. He looked at me with a peculiar expression, almost an interested expression.

  “Look,” I went on, “you’re only… what, eight?”

  “Nine.”

  “Nine, then. You don’t understand what it is to be a king—how awful it is to be a ruler of anywhere, much less of an entire kingdom. It’s true, you order and people do; you rule. But you also serve. Your duty as a ruler is not merely to get your own way, but to care for the welfare of the people in your realm. They are your responsibility just as much as they are your subjects. That is the key to being a good ruler, whether it be baron, duke, or king. Do you think you can remember that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And being polite to everyone will go a long way toward keeping you alive.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Better. Now go apologize to your mother.”

  “For what?”

  “If you recognize me, you know who just gave you an order. Would you like to re-think your question?”

  “Shouldn’t I know why I’m apologizing?”

  “For now, simply apologize. Then you can think about what you should apologize for. When you realize why, you can apologize to her again—and mean it.”

  I stood aside and he squirmed out of the chair, eyeballing me the whole way. He shuffled around the table, still watching me as though I were a dangerous beast that might spring at him. He hugged Lissette and she held him for a bit.

  “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “It’s all right,” Lissette soothed. “I forgive you. It’s all right.”

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, my love?”

  “Can I have lessons in being a king?”

  Lissette shot me a glare. I sat down and pretended not to notice.

  “We’ll discuss it,” Lissette told him. “For now, go along with your other lessons.”

  Liam circled the table and stopped about a pace away from me.

  “Your Majesty, Father?”

  “Yes, Liam?”

  “May I have my sword back? Please?”

  “What does it mean when a man gets a sword from the King?”

  “He’s a knight.”

  “Are you a knight?”

  “No.”

  “No…?” I trailed off.

  He thought about it for a few seconds.

  “Not yet?” he hazarded. I was hoping for a “No, Your Majesty,” or a simple, “No, Sir,” but “Not yet” was an excellent answer, too.

  “When you’ve learned your lessons for today, talk to Torvil about becoming a knight. But remember he reports to me, not to you. He’s my subject, not yours, and has my permission to smack you exactly as I did.” Liam gulped at the news and Lissette frowned.

  “Yes, Father, Your Majesty,” he acknowledged.

  “You may go.”

  Liam sketched a bow, which he clearly wasn’t used to. I doubt anyone expected him to have to bow. He left, taking his dumbfounded tutors or babysitters or whatever they were with him. I wondered if granting amnesty to anyone in a position of authority over the kid would be a good idea. If they could spank him and get away with it, would it help? How do you train a prince to be a king?

  I need a manual for this sort of thing. I’m lost.

  Lissette waited a few seconds to make sure they were out of earshot.

  “Did you have to hit him?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to sound confident.

  “Why?”

  I put down the knife and fork again. Breakfast might be the most important meal of the day, but this one was going rapidly toward indigestion. It took me a little bit to marshal my thoughts and to discover what I wanted to say.

  “Here’s where we have the parenting discussion all married couples have,” I observed. “I prefer to use a gentle hand. I would, given the option, think a pleasant, calm demeanor combined with the appropriate words should be enough for any child. However, in some instances, there is no substitute for taking a less-gentle hand in matters—perhaps a firm hand, but never a needlessly violent one. What I saw come marching in the door was a child who viewed himself as the lord of all creation and the ultimate authority over every slavish underling he could see. And he was going to be the king, one day?” I shook my head.

  “Whoever you put in charge of his upbringing—or whoever He Who Shall Not Be Named did—the choices were poor. What that kid needs is a good dose of hard schooling to learn more than letters, numbers, and swordsmanship. He needs to learn about responsibility, honor, self-reliance, and most definitely self-discipline.”

  “Did you not say I had authority in this matter?” Lissette asked, and I could hear the frost in her voice.

  “I did,” I agreed. “You can do whatever you like with him. Only, please bear this in mind. You’re going to be Queen. One day, hopefully after a long and active reign, you’ll find he’s the King. You might want to start thinking about what sort of man you want him to grow up to be while you still have some influence over it. More like some foppish dandy at the court? More like his father? Or more like a real king?”

  We finished breakfast in silence. I wasn’t all that hungry.

  When the plates were cleared away, Lissette stood up and I matched her.

  “What now?” I asked. “Do I need to get with Seldar and… what was his name?”

  “Felkar. Yes, I would think it best. If you would join us for the morning meeting, that might be good, too.”

  “You have morning meetings, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Please tell me: How do you get them to leave you alone during breakfast?”

  “I was told to take care of the ‘boring ruling stuff,’” she quoted, looking puzzled, “so I told them to have their meeting and I would join them after my breakfast.”

  “I wish I’d thought of that. My ministers have been bugging me whenever they get the chance, which is constantly.”

  “Which reminds me. How many ministers do you have?”

  “I don’t know for certain. Seldar handles…” I trailed off.

  “The boring, ruling stuff?” she guessed.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I have a lazy streak. The Demon King inherited it from me. At least I try.”

  “Do you want to organize the new royal council, or shall I?” Lissette asked, changing the subject.

  “You can, but I want to look over all the potential councilors and make sure you don’t have any self-centered, dishonorable, lying, backstabbing weasels in the mix. I mean to make you a ruling Queen and leave you a kingdom running as well as I can get it to.”

  “I’ll be interested to see if there are any weasels,” she agreed. “Why weasels, specifically?”

  “I don’t know. It’s an association I have from my upbringing. I don’t know why weasels should be synonymous with politicians.”

  “You really are a strange man.”

  “You’ve said it before and I’ve never argued it.”

  “Just so you know. I’ll get dressed. May I have the twins back?”

  “Guys. Switch.” There followed a bit of parade-ground marching, some drawn swords, some formal salutes and some bowing. Apparently I’m not guarded by automatons; they have a sense of humor. Malana and Malena went
along with the formalities of the knights, but I already knew they had a sense of humor.

  “By the way,” I added, “Bob—excuse me. The Duke of Vathula needs to talk to you about how to put you between the crown and throne and keep you there. I told him to talk to you at your earliest convenience.”

  “He’s left a message,” Lissette said, lip curling. “I haven’t felt it was convenient.”

  “Please make time for that discussion. Then you and I can talk about how to tackle the nobles.”

  “I already have some thoughts on the matter.”

  “Good! So does Bob. I think his idea is to kill anyone who argues.”

  “It is effective.”

  “It’s a short-term solution, yes, but the Demon King did enough of that. Please see what Bob’s ideas are like and evaluate them. You’re better at this political stuff than I am.”

  “Very well. I’ll see him. But you have to go to the meeting until I get there.”

  “Whoa, now. Since when do I have to do the meeting? I hate meetings.”

  “I’m none too fond of elves,” Lissette pointed out. “Fair is fair.”

  “All right,” I sighed. “You have a deal. Where is it?”

  Lissette rang for a servant and had him show me to the council chamber. I’d never have been able to follow the directions. This place is more of a maze than I first thought.

  The Council Chamber deserves capital letters. The table is the centerpiece of the room, a massive, rectangular thing of some dark, close-grained wood. It seats thirty people comfortably, which is especially impressive since the chairs are built on the same scale—massive, heavy, and solid. The chairs are more appealing than the table, however, being heavily coated in liberal doses of velvet and padding. Nonetheless, the table and chairs do not fill the space. There is ample room all around the table for liveried young men and women to move, efficiently and quietly, in the bringing of food, drink, a hot towel, paper (Paper, I said, not parchment. I’m proud of that.), ink, quills, sealing wax, candles, and all the other accoutrements of either comfort or business. Around the perimeter of the room, pressed up against the walls, are benches, unpadded, uncomfortable, but solid and well-used. I presume they are present so witnesses, experts, or anyone the council might want to question has someplace out of the way to be while awaiting their summons to speak.

  Halfway down one of the longer sides of the rectangular beast sits a larger chair. It’s big enough for two, if they’re on intimate terms, and stands high enough that Bronze would have to lift her head a trifle to get her nose over it—call it seven feet high and three wide or thereabouts. The whole thing looks done in an industrial style, all flat planes and hard angles, softened by the same plush padding as the other chairs, only more of it. Carved into the throne—excuse me, the chair—high up on the back so the design seems to hover over whoever sits there is a stylized crown. It is the only ornamentation, the only thing in the room that doesn’t seem to have a specific function.

  Then again, considering the placement, perhaps it does. It would be hard to forget the person sitting in that chair also wears a crown. The reminder is right there, hovering, as though the ghosts of kings held it in place.

  I walked in completely unprepared.

  The meeting was in full swing, with some councilors still having their breakfast, others having their post-breakfast nap, some reading, some writing, a few doodling, and a few arguing with each other about the tariff policies of the western cities versus the political realities of claiming them as part of the kingdom.

  Nobody seemed to notice me, at first. All the attention—what there was of it—stayed on the three people actually doing the shouting and finger-pointing and waving of papers. Oops. Excuse me again. The attention stayed on the lively political debate taking place.

  This suited me. I moved to the nearest bench, laid down on it, and motioned my bodyguards to sit. I pretended to be a row of books; they played bookends. This went on long enough I actually started to doze off.

  “And what corner of the underworld did you spring from?” I didn’t realize I was the one spoken to until the demanding voice added, “Well? Who ordered these knights to bring you here? Answer me!” followed by a general diminishing of conversation.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, sitting up. “I was never much for attending these things.”

  “Oh, shit,” he breathed.

  I raised an eyebrow at the sudden scramble. People sat up sharply. Standing people sat down with equal suddenness. Someone’s mouthful of wine decorated the air over the table in a lovely mist. Nobody actually fainted or fell over backward, but I suspect the weight of the chairs prevents them from tipping easily.

  Once everything achieved a reasonable state of equilibrium, I stood up. Everyone rose when I did. I strolled to the High Seat, casually slid it out and let my guards muscle it forward under me. Once I sat down, the rest of the room did.

  “Good morning,” I said, to the table in general. “Which one of you is Felkar?”

  Felkar was seated opposite the Royal Chair, in the same position on the other side of the table. He stood up, slowly, carefully. He was an elderly, dignified gentleman with a wide gold chain from shoulder to shoulder over the embroidered doublet. He was thin, almost frail, but although his hair was almost completely white, it was all still there. His beard was short and neat, his eyes clear, and he seemed both attentive and alert. I wouldn’t have suspected him of being in charge; he was easily the plainest-dressed man in the room. I don’t count myself; I’m not, strictly speaking, a human being anymore.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing slightly. I had the impression he might not be able to bend very well. Besides, there was a table in the way. I gestured him to seat himself again.

  “I hear good things about you, Felkar. The Queen is pleased with your work.”

  “I am most grateful to Her Majesty for her confidence.”

  “And I am most grateful to her and to you for your competence and sense of duty to the kingdom as a whole. Thank you. Now, I presume you have all discussed policies, debated the merits of various plans of action, and have assembled recommendations for royal approval?”

  “No, Your Majesty. Not as such. No.”

  “No?” I asked, feigning surprise. “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand the purpose of this meeting. What, exactly, do you do here?”

  “We are here to advise the Queen, Your Majesty.”

  “And how does that work?”

  “Majesty?” he asked, eyebrows drawing together.

  “This advising process. How does it work?”

  “I… I am afraid I do not understand what Your Majesty is trying to ask. Forgive me, please.”

  “No, no—if you don’t understand, it’s my fault, not yours. I’ll keep trying.” I pondered for a moment and decided to tackle it with an example.

  “Here, let’s try this. Say you have a noble of some sort who’s blocked off the King’s Road and charges tolls to anyone who wishes to pass his border. If word of this reaches the palace, here, and is brought before this council, what normally happens?”

  “Normally?”

  “Yes. Here’s a problem. It’s just been reported. A messenger came in and handed you a note describing the situation. What do you do, Felkar?”

  “I dispatch a company of soldiers to tear down the barriers and restore the right-of-way on the King’s Road, Your Majesty.”

  “Huh. Well, yes, that’s probably the right thing to do, but shouldn’t the Queen be the one making the decision?”

  “Why?” he asked, looking puzzled. “It is the commanding of men, not something for a woman to do, Your Majesty.”

  Yep, my teeth still lock together. I can’t grind them. I bite like a butcher hitting a chopping block, but I can’t gnash my teeth.

  I beckoned one of my guards close. He leaned down and I looked at the closed helmet. Whispering to a man in the equivalent of a super-advanced motorcycle helmet is impractical. There are arrangemen
ts for air and sound, but the helmets do restrict their hearing a bit. I pretended to whisper while Firebrand relayed to him, instead. He hurried out of the room.

  “Gentlemen,” I began, spreading my hands on the table, “allow me to make a few observations and suggestions. Do you mind?”

  I was immediately assured how no one in the room minded in the least hearing anything I had to say. One thing about a reputation as the Demon King, it’s definitely good for uniting people in stark, unreasoning terror. I rummaged around in my mental toolbox and dug out my Demon King hat. It’s pretty much the same hat I wear when dealing with the creatures living in the Eastrange. That is, it’s a mode of thinking, an artificial set of attitudes I find distasteful, but which is sometimes necessary for public performances.

  “You may not have been too clear on this,” I began, “and I haven’t been too interested until recently. I thought it was all going so well, but I was wrong. So forgive me if I was unclear. I’ll try to dumb it down to the level of newborn infants and moderately-intelligent dogs. If some of you still fail to comprehend, I feel sure we can find a suitable response.

  “For the first point. I am the ultimate authority in Karvalen, and I will bury this kingdom in the shredded, bloodless flesh of every man, woman, and child if it suits me to do so. Does anyone here have any trouble whatsoever understanding this fact?”

  I was immediately assured in the strongest possible language how they did, indeed, absolutely understand.

  “For the second point. I have other things I want to do besides sit on a throne all day and all night, deciding how much money to spend, how many taxes to levy, which troops to send where, and so forth. Are you capable of comprehending this?”

  Again, they assured me they were completely with me.

  “Good, good. Now, I have a Queen. I know, you think of her as a mere woman with a fancy title based on the fact she’s was fortunate enough to marry me. And, truthfully, she is a woman, and she did gain her title by marrying me. I understand you think this, and I agree with it—as far as it goes.

  “But I’m going to ask you a question. A very specific question. When I ask the question, I don’t want you to answer it. I want you to think about it until you’ve considered all the possible answers. I’ll even give you clues before I ask the question, so you can have an easier time choosing your answer.