by Garon Whited
She came back into view, moving quickly, and paused at the door, waving a finger around at the doorframe. I slapped a gate over it, flushed it, snapped her into view, and she told me to close it even as she rolled forward through it.
Behind her, I could see a pure, white radiance. It grew brighter in the split seconds the gate was open. It wasn’t visible through a scrying sensor, but my version only transmits visible light unless I add in extra filters. Through the gate, though, the light was brilliant and obvious.
I closed the gate, shredding the view into nothingness.
“Are you all right?” I asked, helping her roll over and sit up.
“No. I feel as though I’ve been microwaved and I might throw up.” She gulped and asked, “Is my hair burned off?”
“No. It looks all right. Why? What happened?”
“’Scuse,” she replied, and threw up.
As an aside, never be around when an undead creature throws up. I don’t know what we have in our supernatural digestive tract, but whatever it is, it’s not supposed to come out. Considering what we eat—blood—I am infinitely grateful it didn’t try to crawl over to me.
What came out of Mary’s mouth was black, about the consistency of warm honey, and smelled like a summer battlefield after the crows finished picking the eyeballs. It stank like death and rot, possibly with a trace of acid and industrial waste. It could have been used as insect repellent. It could have been used as human repellent. It was probably in violation of treaties on the use of chemical weapons.
I covered my mouth and nose; my eyes stung as I backed away in a hurry. A quick spell on the ventilation holes and air started moving more rapidly. Mary rolled onto her side, away from the slowly-spreading puddle of reeking, black foulness and I drew Firebrand.
Whatever it was, it burned. It didn’t like burning, but Firebrand insisted, so burn it did, with slow, red, sluggish flames and thick, black smoke. The smoke was also foul and seemed to leave behind a faint stain on everything it touched. I was glad it vented in a hurry.
Mary rolled over onto her stomach and I silently hoped she wasn’t about to throw up again. Once was too many. She didn’t, but it was a close thing. She lay there for several minutes, still as a statue, not even breathing, while her body sorted itself out. I didn’t interfere, didn’t even ask any questions, until she sat up on her own.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. It took a little bit to settle down, but I’m better. I’ll be fine, really.”
“What happened?”
“You were with me up to the door, right?”
“Right.”
“The prince’s quarters are a family suite—receiving room, office, family room, hallway, bedrooms, the lot. He’s got a servant on call, sitting in the hallway, so I clock him one and he goes down. I open the door with my tendril and slither in, but I can already tell something’s not right. The prince is in bed with his wife and they’re glowing, shining right through the covers and the curtains, and it’s bright. He sits up and demands to know who’s in his room. I’m pretty sure he’s got a weapon, but I can’t see very well because of the glare and I can’t bring myself to go closer. I tried, but it hurt too much.
“As I’m thinking I should abort, the light gets brighter and I feel like I’m being microwaved. He whips open the curtain and gets out of bed, and I can’t stand it anymore. The light feels like it’s burning me, not just on the surface, but all the way through, like I’m made of glass and it’s shining through me to melt me. That’s when I gave up on a bad deal and ran for it, with the results,” she glanced at the stained spot on the floor, “you’ve already seen.”
“Sounds as though the Prince of Actareyn has protection from the Church of Light. This is a lot worse than I recall it ever being, though.”
“Maybe he believes.”
“Could be.”
“Aren’t you immune to this sort of thing, with your diplomatic immunity and all?”
“So I’m told, although I don’t really want to test it if I can avoid it. What say we scry on the palace and see what sort of anthill we stirred up?”
“Fine by me, but if I’m going to run into this sort of thing, I want a protective suit and goggles.”
“You know, I’m not sure how to make a god-resistant suit? Then again, they aren’t actually gods. I’ll need to get more data.”
“Work on it,” Mary advised.
I fired up the mirror again and scanned around the palace in question. Guards were everywhere, presumably looking for an intruder. The Prince was outside his quarters, so finding him wasn’t too difficult. He was accompanied by a pair of armored bodyguards, a wizard—magicians usually dress better—and a priest of the Church of Light. Since I was only looking for visible-light phenomena, as through a camera, I couldn’t tell if he was protected from dark and sinister forces, but I did spot a medallion on a short chain. It looked like the typical sun-face thing the church tends to give out.
“Step out of the line of sight,” I told Mary. She hurried to the left of the mirror. I twiddled with it for a moment, trying to get a look at the magical signatures involved. Yes, the Prince was currently wearing a deflection spell and a healing spell. The healing spell was merely sitting there, not doing anything, but prepared to activate at a moment’s notice. Not quite what I wanted to see, though.
After a bit of finagling, I finally got it. Yes, the medallion was a bright light. It permeated the Prince so he was a figure of light, albeit a somewhat ghostly one. The priest was in a similar, but more intense condition. His medallion was a solid circle of blazing white; his body was a shimmering, radiant ghost of himself, filled with divine energy.
Mary, meanwhile, was crouched beside the mirror, hunched up, and turned away. I killed the scrying sensor and she breathed a sigh of relief.
See? I’m not the only undead who does it.
“Well, that’s inconvenient.”
“You’re telling me?” Mary asked.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel fine, but I knew it when you got the window open.”
“Odd. I didn’t mean to actually communicate the divine energies. I only wanted a false-color image—like a thermograph, showing heat as colors, rather than radiating actual heat.”
“Then you didn’t get it quite right,” Mary advised. “Didn’t you feel it?”
“Nope. This tells me the Lord of Light is either paying close attention, or the emanations of the various energy-state beings are tagged to treat me as transparent. Maybe just as a non-target. I don’t know how they set this sort of thing up.”
“I’m glad you’ve found a topic of interest regarding a horrible sensation.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I only meant—”
“Never mind what you meant. I’m more interested in what we’re going to do about this!”
“Hmm. Give me a minute.”
“Sure. Take an hour. I think I need to find dinner.”
“Hungry?”
“I think so.” She rubbed her stomach with both hands. “You know that feeling when you’re either nauseated or hungry, but you can’t quite tell which?”
“I’ve been there, yeah.”
“That’s kind of what I’ve got going on here. Do you think there’s anyone at the Temple of Shadow?”
“Probably. I’d check with the kitchen, first. It’s closer. And it would be unkind to eat someone only to throw them up.”
“Good thinking.”
Mary went off to find something to drink and I considered what to do. I had hoped to grab three minor princes, force them to recall their troops, and thus end the current conflict. The Church of Light showed its hand, Lissette knew of their intentions, and the delay in reorganizing and re-fielding the armies would allow Karvalen to be ready for them.
All right, so we weren’t going to manage it with Actareyn. The knights might pull it off with Lyraneyn, and, if the general principle of non-interference applied, I might drop in on Hyceteyn
. Two out of three wouldn’t be so bad.
I dialed for Beltar’s mirror. He answered immediately.
“My lord.”
“How goes it?”
“We have the palace, the prince, and his family. We have some wounded, but no deaths. Eleven of our number are badly hurt from the magician in the prince’s employ.”
“How’s the magician?”
“He needs a necromancer.”
“Ah. What else?”
“They have a bit more than two dozen dead and even more wounded, but I do not yet have a count. The palace is secured, but we are still combing it for secret passages or tunnels. The prince has already sent messengers to recall his troops.”
“Wonderful. Does he have a personal priest in residence?”
“Why, yes, my lord,” Beltar admitted, surprised. “How did you know?”
“Just a feeling. Does the prince—what’s his name, anyway?”
“Prince Tannos of the House of Lyraneyn.”
“I know that name.” I frowned in thought. “Where do I know that name from?”
“Prince Tannos fought the Demon King’s forces in the eastern Darkwood, not far from Peleseyn. That battle was—”
“—where Kelvin was killed, yes, I remember now. T’yl told me. It was Prince Tannos’ troops who killed him, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, my lord. What do you wish done with the prince?”
I thought about it for several seconds.
“Can our wounded be moved?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Bring the prince and his pet priest. Or bring the priest and his pet prince—I’m not sure which way this goes. Lock up the palace, form up in the great hall, and prepare to charge home. Call me when you’ve got everyone.”
“It will be done, my lord.” He signed off, presumably to start the process. I switched out a lot of power crystals to make sure the gate was charged up and ready.
When Beltar called back, I took it on the gate’s mirror. The connection acted as a guide for the gate spell, which filled the arch…
The great hall in the palace of Lyraneyn snapped into view through the gate and a small army hustled through at a dead run. I kept a hand on the gate itself, monitoring the charge and pushing a bit to keep it open, just in case. Carrying stretchers and hustling prisoners along meant the retreat would take a little longer.
They made it through with gobs of time and energy to spare. All those power crystals they contributed earlier really made a huge difference. Next time I have to dump a lot of guys somewhere, they’re spending a couple of days preparing for it. Spread the effort around, that’s the ticket.
I thanked them all for their assistance; they seemed more than pleased to have helped. I had Beltar dismiss them. They passed the word down the hall and the gradual movement of the dark tide turned, flowing away.
Heydyl waited patiently, standing beside Beltar until I turned to him. He held out my sword. I took it, drew it, sniffed it for blood, sheathed it.
“Why isn’t there blood on this?” I asked. Heydyl looked puzzled.
“I didn’t need to use it?” he half-asked, genuinely confused.
“That’s the perfect answer.” I met Beltar’s gaze. “You two probably need to discuss this lesson.”
“We will, my lord,” Beltar assured me.
I swung around to the captive prince and priest. Two grey sashes acted as their guards. Both the priest and Prince Tannos wore gold discs with a sun-face on them. I could see them radiating white light, but I didn’t feel anything. Prince Tannos was tall, middle-aged, and quite fit, with only the first salting of grey in his dark hair. He needed a haircut. The priest was shorter, not running to fat but certainly sauntering that way, with a short beard liberally dusted with grey. Both were in nightclothes. The priest had a big, juicy bruise starting on the left side of his face. I suspected a gauntlet.
“You have no right to do this!” Prince Tannos snapped, looking somewhat comical in his nightshirt. At least he had the good sense not to try and hit me. “You’ve invaded my home! You’ve kidnapped a Prince! This is an act of war!”
I sighed while he continued to protest. The priest, I noted, kept his mouth shut and his eyes open. He might actually be medium-smart, I thought.
“Prince Tannos,” I said, quietly, speaking as though he wasn’t talking. He shut himself up when he realized he was missing what I was saying. He glanced behind me and the thought that his life might depend on listening visibly crossed his mind. “You may not have realized this, but your princedom is a vassal state to the Kingdom of Karvalen. You’ve sent armies marching toward the central regions of Karvalen—an act of rebellion and war, already. So when you declared war by your actions, I took appropriate action against a rebel state. Now, my first impulse is to march into Lyraneyn, crush it like an eggshell under a boot, and demand personal oaths of fealty from anyone who survives.
“Fortunately for you,” I continued, in as smooth and matter-of-fact a tone as I could manage, “I’ve given over the administration and rulership of the kingdom to the Queen Lissette, so what she wants is what you’ll get. However—and this is important—if you give me even the slightest excuse to be angry at you, I will break one of your fingers. I will continue to break a finger every time you speak disrespectfully to your King.
“Now,” I added, gesturing at the priest, “I’m aware this idiot and his organization have been pushing you to go to war with the Demon King and his minions. You’ve got a good case for mercy and I’m sure the Queen will be happy to hear any excuse you offer. I won’t. With this in mind, do you have anything to say for yourself?”
He reached up to his throat, seized the gold disc, flipped the chain up over his head, and presented it to me as one presenting a talisman to keep evil at bay.
I reached out, took it gently from his hand, and turned it over in my fingers a few times. No Hand logo on the back, so that was to the good. It still shone with a white light to my vamp-o-vision, but that was all.
“It’s a nice piece of workmanship,” I noted. Prince Tannos stared at me in wide-eyed horror. “Better than the ones I’ve seen locally. Thank you. I appreciate your gift, although I don’t understand why you’re giving it to me. Are you repudiating your alliance with the Church of Light so you can assure the Queen of your permanent and unwavering loyalty to the Crown?”
“He cannot,” said the priest.
“Who, exactly, are you?”
“I am Prelate Faltos, Servant of the God of Light, spiritual guide to the Kingdom of Lyraneyn.”
“I see. And your duties to the Prince?”
“My duties are to the Lord of Light and to the Kingdom of Lyraneyn,” he corrected. “The Prince is a servant of the Light, as are all men.”
I looked at the Prince, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Is he right?” I asked. Clearly, the Prince didn’t like the way this conversation was going. His lips were pressed thin and his eyes narrow. I waited for a few beats to see if he had an answer.
“I serve the Lord of Light,” Prince Tannos answered. I noticed he didn’t precisely agree with Faltos, but the prelate didn’t seem to notice. Faltos swelled up, looking self-important, and resumed.
“Therefore, your actions are the acts of an invader, for the Prince owes you no allegiance!” he declared, pointing a finger at me. “Your kingdom of evil holds no sway over the lands of Light! Thus shall your evil be torn up, root and branch, and cast down into—”
I grabbed his waving finger and broke it. He screamed, a high-pitched, wailing thing and clutched at his wounded hand.
“Maybe I should have made it a point to mention the rule of broken fingers applied to both of you,” I observed. “However, now that I have your attention—” I went on, but he screamed curses and epithets at me—language one does not expect from a person afforded the dignity of the priesthood. I waited for over a minute while he screamed at me. That’s when my limited patience with blowhard priests ran out.
“Shut up,” I told him, “or I’ll push your ears together.”
He told me what would become of me, how I would burn in the light, be destroyed as all shadows must, blah, blah, blah. So I put a hand on either side of his head and pushed his ears together, hard. The splatter was impressive. Tannos went white, then green as he wiped his face.
“Now that things have quieted down a bit,” I said, flicking cerebro-spinal fluid from my hands, “we need to talk, Tannos. Are you ready to listen? Or do you need a minute?”
He needed a minute. Even hardened veterans have a hard time watching someone’s head implode like that, especially when brains splatter everywhere. Even the grey sashes needed a minute. Heydyl needed more than a minute. Oddly enough, Beltar was unmoved. I wondered about that, but resolved not to ask.
I waited for people to get a grip on their composure and their stomachs. Blood crawled out of the crushed bits of corpse and slithered over to me, snaking up my boots, through my trousers, and into my skin. When Tannos looked at me again, I smiled.
“So, here’s the deal, Tannos. You are going to Carrillon. You are going to negotiate with Queen Lissette for terms. You are going to join the Kingdom of Karvalen on whatever terms you can get, so be as nice as you possibly can. And I’ll give you reasons why you’re going to do this.
“First, you won’t have some religious zealot standing at your elbow, telling you how to run your domain. True, you won’t be a prince anymore, but you’ll have more autonomy than you have now.
“Second, your economy—and wealth—will increase dramatically. In short, your life and the lives of your people will become much more comfortable. Look around the palace at Carrillon and see what sort of things you might want for your own residence. We’ve got good stuff. Running water, hot water, education, high levels of employment and production, cheap transportation, low taxes, and something with a passing resemblance to justice.
“Third, when the day comes for you to die—hopefully in due time, rather than shortly after I’ve finished speaking—the Grey Lady will take you to whatever afterlife best suits you, rather than being dragged off to the Lord of Light to do whatever it is he does with you.