Knightfall: Book Four of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “You’re all aware the Queen is a lovely lady, but, as you have no doubt noticed, she is not the, quote, most ravishingly beautiful woman in the kingdom, unquote. I could have had immense beauty if I wanted it, as I am sure you are all aware. But I chose to marry Lissette. Lissette has other qualities that make her—to my mind—an ideal Queen.

  “Now,” I said, leaning back and steepling my fingers, “knowing I have other matters to which I must attend besides the day-to-day business of a kingdom, and knowing I selected Lissette for qualities I find ideal in a Queen, and having been told—I’m sure this was mentioned at least once—that Lissette should take charge of those day-to-day affairs of the kingdom… and pay close attention, because this is the question…

  “Who rules this place when I’m not to be bothered with it?”

  Ever seen people slowly shade from pale to pale green? It’s not a pretty sight.

  “Take your time,” I encouraged. “Think about it, if you can. I’m not optimistic about this horse learning to sing, but you never know. When you think you know the answer, please write it down, sign it, fold it, and have it sent over to me. We’ll wait until everyone figures it out. If necessary, we can help the slow learners.”

  You know, it’s kind of nice to be able to say that sort of thing to a class of lunkheads. There have been whole semesters where I thought, Do I say what I’m thinking, or do I keep my job? There were days when it was a close call.

  Quills scratched on paper. Papers rustled as servants stacked them in front of me. I counted them as they were handed in.

  “I see we have one from everyone. Good. Let’s see what sort of answers we have.” I opened the one on top and read out, “The Queen of Karvalen, Lissette.” I opened the next one and read out, “The Queen.” I went through the whole stack, one by one, all with some variation on “The Queen.”

  “Gentlemen, I must applaud you. When I spell it out, draw you a diagram, and do everything but tell you the answer, you seem able to reach the proper conclusion.

  “Now, I recognize some of you may chafe at the idea of a woman being the ultimate ruler—well, acting as ultimate ruler—of the kingdom, and therefore giving you orders. Being subject to a woman’s whims? How fantastically strange! Wouldn’t you agree? I’m sure you would. For some it might be considered tolerable. Others find it not so easily tolerated, of course. So, if you feel it might be too difficult for you—the very idea of being respectful, obedient subjects to a… a… a woman! Well! If you’re not going to be able to endure such an indignity, I will certainly understand if you choose to resign from your position on this council. If that’s the case, please do so now. Gather up your things and depart, please. I still have business with the council—assuming anyone at all chooses to remain, of course.”

  You know, I really didn’t think anyone would fall for it. Oh, I spoke with a sympathetic voice, as though I could empathize with and agree with anyone who couldn’t get behind the idea the Queen might be the exception to the general rule of women-as-property. But I swear, four men gathered up their papers, bowed in my direction, and left the room. The rest of them stirred and muttered and shifted in their seats, but remained.

  “Excellent! Now that we’ve sorted out the people who are willing to work with Lissette—the Queen of Karvalen and unquestioned ruler of the nation—from the useless dregs who would only be trouble, I have one last thing to say on the subject.

  “By keeping your fat rears in your chairs, you’ve promised me to work with her, obey her, and do your duty to the best of your ability—to advise her honestly, without eye to personal gain, and to implement anything she orders done, without foot-dragging, without half-measures, without delay. You will obey her with enthusiasm and with imagination, not merely as mindless automatons. I will have your allegiance, gentlemen, not merely your obedience, or I will have your testicles nailed to the table as a caution to your replacement.”

  I stood up, casually skidding the chair back. Everyone else rose, as well. Firebrand had already relayed the word from outside, so I told them to go ahead.

  The doors opened and dozens of men came in, accompanied by six of the red-and-grey knights. Under the watchful eye of the knights, the men took the chairs and hauled them out of the room. I stopped the ones who went for Felkar’s chair and had them leave it; the man was too old to expect him to stand. Other servants cleared away serving-dishes, wine bottles, and any other articles not useful for writing. One tray with a pitcher of water and a single cup wound up sitting slightly to my left on the table.

  Four minutes? Maybe as many as six. Everyone but the councilors, four knights, and a single messenger were gone. All of a sudden, the place was much less a breakfast messhall and much more a stark boardroom.

  “Felkar? Please be seated.” I seated myself while the rest of the councilors remained standing. Felkar settled carefully into his chair.

  “Now,” I finished, pleasantly, “I want a list of issues facing the kingdom. For each issue, I want a list of possible courses of action. For each course of action, I want a list of the good points and the bad points. Do we have these readily at hand? No? Very well. Felkar, please take charge of the council meeting. Sir Tyrian and Sir Bartlet will be happy to help you keep order.” I gestured them forward and the two gigantic knights moved around the table. They knelt on either side of Felkar, saluted him, stood up, and took station behind his chair to mirror the position of the knights still behind me.

  “I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen—and, for the hard of thinking, let me add that I am leaving Felkar in charge of this council. And, Felkar, aside from me, who is the one authority you answer to?”

  “The Queen, Your Majesty,” he replied, promptly.

  “Indeed. If there is anyone at this table to fails to understand that I have delegated power and authority over this council to you, please feel free to have them beheaded—don’t bother me or Lissette with the matter. Thank you for your time, gentlemen. You have quite a lot of work to do. I’ll let you get to it.”

  I left with two of the four bodyguards, went back to my dungeon bedroom, stripped down, sat down under the running water, and shook.

  Power. Mary once said power was the problem. But it’s not always power. It’s the person with such power.

  Like it or not, I’m still the king. I have the power. And what did I do with it? I intimidated, interfered, bullied a bunch of men for no better reason than I didn’t like the way they held a meeting!

  What am I doing with power? Why should I be stuck with any sort of power? Why do I have to have the responsibility for power?

  This is why I don’t want to be a king—or a god, or a ruler, or whatever else people want me to be. I’m as narrow-minded and provincial as the next man. I’m just as likely to impose my ideas of what I think is right on people as any… any… any Myrna from Valley View Court.

  I can have fangs and claws and a shadow that does weird things while I’m not looking, but I remain a man—or as limited, in this way, as a man. Turn me into a king, though, and I become a monster. The thing with the fangs will kill because that’s the function of the thing with fangs. When it’s time to go, we’re there to make it happen painlessly, gently, so when death visits, it’s an old friend come to invite you out on a long trip.

  But make me a king and I’ll strip away a man’s dignity. I’ll wreck his self-respect. I’ll change the way he lives his life, interfere with it, rearrange it, fix it up to suit me—me, not him! It’s his life, all their lives, and I’ve got a license to monkey around with it because I wear a fancy-schmancy metal hat!

  Oh, gods and devils, what am I doing to Lissette’s life? I’m making her Queen, a ruling Queen for the first time in Rethvan history! Does she want that? Is she only agreeing because she doesn’t have a better offer? Is it her sense of responsibility and duty to the kingdom, or her willingness to accommodate my wishes as the King?

  What am I doing to Lissette?

  And, of course, my next thought: What
am I doing to the kingdom? My first concern was for Lissette, because that’s personal. My second thought was for the kingdom, because I don’t care about it as much as I do about her! My personal feelings are stronger than my sense of duty and responsibility—and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing!

  I once had the idea I’m not human. Well, maybe I still am. I certainly have enough failings.

  Boss?

  “What is it, Firebrand?’

  I know you like to drown your sorrows in a waterfall, but there are people outside who want to see you.

  “Who?”

  The minstrel girl, Tyma. She’s insisting, and she’s got stuff with her.

  “Stuff?”

  A big stick and some instruments.

  “Ah.” I sighed, turned the valve to close the water tap, and hauled myself to my feet. “Tell the guards to give me five minutes. I need to dry and dress.”

  On it, Boss.

  I quick-dried, dressed, and went into the receiving room. The guards opened the door and let Tyma in.

  Nine years did unpleasant things to her. Of course, having her father eviscerated by the Demon King might have had some effect, too. I flinched away from the thought. Her dark hair was still bound back in a braid, but grey veins ran through it. Lines surrounded her grey eyes, very few of them from laughing. Her hands were occupied with handles and straps to carry everything, but they seemed the most unchanged thing about her, still long-fingered, graceful and strong.

  She retained her blunt-speaking ways, too.

  “What did you do?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t give me that, you demon-souled, blood-drinking, father-slaying thing! Answer me!”

  “I don’t know!” I insisted, backing away from her. “What am I being blamed for? I have no idea! Just give me a clue!”

  “These!” she shouted, shaking the straps and handles of the instruments. “These!”

  “I didn’t break them! I swear! I don’t know why they aren’t playing!”

  “No, you unutterable moron! What did you do to make them play again?”

  “What? I don’t understand!”

  She whirled away from me and laid out the instruments—lute, recorder, and lap-harp—on the low table. Once freed of their cases, the harp hummed, the lute strummed, and the recorder piped along. They seemed quite merry, actually. I approached the instruments and examined them.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with them,” I confessed. “I don’t see any damage to them, either. No breaks, no repairs, not even much in the way of physical scratches. They look pretty much the way they did when I first enchanted them. I can’t find anything to indicate they were ever broken.”

  “That’s impossible. I tried for years to get them to play! You’re lying!” she accused, and brandished the Kingsmacker. “This thing says it’s for smacking kings. Tell the truth!”

  Tyma was fortunate I have very fast reflexes. I held up a hand to stop the guards. They stepped back, but they didn’t sheathe their swords. Tyma glanced at them, looked startled, and lowered the stick.

  “Show me what you did when they didn’t work,” I suggested. “How did you try to make them play? It may help me find the point of failure.”

  So she took out a stringed instrument from the remaining case and set it up. It reminded me of a violin, only longer and narrower, probably with more strings, too—I’m not sure how many strings a violin has. A nykaherrin? I think that’s the name. Unlike a violin, it had an arrangement of keys or frets or something all along the neck. She sat down, held it upright, and played it by running a bow over it while manipulating the key-things.

  The three instruments on the table were silent.

  “What are you playing?”

  “It’s ‘The Death of a Minstrel’,” she replied. I began to have a suspicion.

  “Don’t you have anything… ah… more cheerful?”

  “I don’t remember many cheerful tunes,” she spat.

  “Try. Just one. I seem to remember one about a goose and a duck getting married.”

  “‘The Wedding of Duck and Goose.’ It’s silly.”

  “Yes, it is. But it’s also funny. Go on, try to play it.”

  “That one’s dusty in my fingers.”

  “Blow on them and try,” I insisted. She sighed and started sawing again, haltingly. The instruments on the table picked it right up and let her lead the tune, following her pacing and tempo and all that musical stuff. Very supportive, the backup instrumentals. She made it about a third of the way through the song before she gave it up.

  “What is this? Do they only work for happy songs?”

  “That could be the case, but I’m starting to suspect it’s more specific. Do you know a sad song? A mourning song, maybe?”

  “Several.”

  “One that doesn’t revolve around me?”

  “I… yes. I think so.”

  “Try one.”

  She started a melancholy tune, low and slow. It would have fit well with a procession following a coffin to the graveyard. Sure enough, the backup instruments joined in with her and turned it into something you wouldn’t want to play near anyone with a sharp object and a history of depression.

  “I think I’ve figured it out,” I told her, and she stopped playing.

  “What? What’s wrong with them?”

  “Nothing at all. They appear to dislike some songs. You’ve got to remember, Linnaeus contributed some of himself to the making of these instruments. Part of his soul, if you will, is in them. They’re not… well, they’re not alive in the sense of you or I, or even in the sense of a dog or cow, but there is something of life within them. They can like a tune or hate it, apparently, and can choose not to play. That’s what they appear to be doing.” I shrugged. “I didn’t anticipate this, but I suppose I should have.”

  “So I can only use them to play songs they like?” she demanded.

  “Well, I don’t know about use them. You might want to think of them as fellow musicians in your group. You all have to agree on what to play, after all. But these musicians won’t spend money, get sick, miss a note, or even demand to be paid. The only thing they have an opinion about—I presume it’s an opinion reflecting Linnaeus’ opinion—is the music they play.”

  “Which means they won’t play anything knocking you,” she accused.

  “I don’t know, but I have to guess so. I think Linnaeus liked me, gods alone know why.”

  “You planned this!” she seethed. “All those years ago, when you made them! You made sure Linnaeus couldn’t sing anything unpleasant about you. You set it up so he could only sing your praises!”

  “I only wish I were that clever,” I admitted. “It’s a good idea, from a sneaky bastard standpoint. I can’t do it, though. To control them so precisely, I would have to be the one contributing the musical talent, and I don’t have any. The animating force, the vital essence making these things produce music—not random noise, but music—is a small part of Linnaeus.”

  She quietly put her nykaherrin in its case and started putting the other instruments away, as well.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  “You owe me an instrument,” she spat.

  “Pick one out,” I told her. “I also owe you some time with a stick.”

  She paused and examined the Kingsmacker again. She looked at me with narrowed eyes.

  “Yes. Yes, you do. You owe me more than that.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “You think beating you is enough? Oh, no. No, no, no, no. No. You owe me for a father, you son of a bitch.”

  “I won’t deny it.”

  “Here’s how it’s going to work. I’ll hold on to this—it makes a good symbol of your debt—and I’ll let you know what I want. I’m not sure what it is, yet, but my own instrument is a good start.”

  “I see. All right. I won’t promise I can give you what you ask for,
but I promise to listen and to do what I can.”

  Tyma flipped the Kingsmacker into the air and caught it.

  “You think that’s good enough?”

  “I think it’s the best I can do,” I countered. “You wish for something I can’t give and you’ll be disappointed. But I’ll do what I can. If it’s beyond me, it’s beyond me, and you’ll have to live with it.”

  Tyma regarded me with narrowed eyes, still flipping the stick. At last, she nodded.

  “All right. Now get me my instrument.”

  I ordered it done, exit stage left, while enter stage right, a new messenger. Apparently, the Queen would appreciate a visit in the solarium at my convenience. Not my preferred place for a meeting, but she’s the Queen. I wondered if there was a significance to the meeting-place. I hoped not. I sent word to Seldar to bring the crown, though. It would look nice in the sunshine, so this might be a good time to present it to Lissette.

  I didn’t realize it was lunchtime. Time sure flies when you’re having a nervous breakdown and questioning the value of your existence.

  Lissette was happily seated at one end of a medium-sized table, spoon-feeding a miniature person of a few months of age, while Liam sat at her left, looking preoccupied and picking at his food. She had thoughtfully seen to it a place was set opposite her. I occupied this seat—a somewhat large and well-constructed chair, obviously brought into the solarium from elsewhere; another thoughtful touch—and a waiter-type servant started bringing food. I didn’t recognize this one; he was different from the one at breakfast. He looked nervous and tended to twitch whenever I spoke.

  “I trust your morning went well?” Lissette asked. She didn’t sound saccharine sweet or upset. It’s possible she actually cared enough to task. Or maybe she was hiding her feelings with children present.

  Come to that, where were the other kids? Did she not want to expose them to me? This little one wouldn’t remember me and Liam had already forced the issue. Were the others being protected? Or, since they were probably Thomen’s children, were they being kept away from me to avoid any possible negative reaction—in short, were the others being protected?