Nightlord: Orb (78 page)

“Drop by?  Like a falling tower?  Or quietly visit?”

“I was thinking of a quiet visit with my eldest daughter, then moving on to the mountain.”

“It should not be a problem.  Your reputation precedes you, of course, but there are no temples to the Lord of Light here.  I doubt anyone will be moved to violence.”

“That’s reassuring.  Any guesses about the mountain?”

“There are no temples to the Lord of Light there, either, unless they’ve repurposed a building in the last seven months.  You—that is, your dark side—forbade any additional structures dedicated to their religion throughout the kingdom.  The other religions have their temples in the city of Karvalen, though.”

“Not surprising.  Okay.  I’ll call before we drop in.”

“I’ll contact Tianna immediately—she is in Karvalen, by the way.”

“The mountain?”

“Yes.  She has the temple to the Mother there.”

“Ah, right.  Thank you.”

“Anytime, Dad.”

The flames fell to embers.  Bronze and I carried wood into the city.

Mary and Clomper already had most of our traveling stuff moved to the grain silo, using the cart.  We would leave the cart here, though; getting Clomper out of the canal would be tricky enough.  The cart wasn’t going to make it, but both Bronze and Clomper could make it out—the canal water isn’t more than four feet deep, and there are access stairs recessed into the walls of the canals.

“What word?” Mary asked.

“T’yl’s being a bum.  We call once more, tomorrow night, then go visit my eldest daughter.”

“Excellent.  What do you think of these clothes?”

I conjured a light so I could see the colors.

“Very nice.  Too nice, possibly, to be inconspicuous.”

“They’re the worst I could find.”

“Darn those wealthy people, buying high-quality, fancy-looking outfits. They never think of the people who are going to steal their stuff. It’s not fair.  I guess we’ll have to cope.  Hopefully, under cover of night, no one will pay much attention.”

“They’ll pay more attention to Madam Alarm Bell,” Mary pointed out, nodding at Bronze.  Bronze snorted and looked surprised.  “Don’t deny you make a clanging noise with every footfall,” Mary added.  Bronze was indignant for a moment, her ears laying back, before she relaxed and nodded.  She’s a big horse.  She can admit to her limitations.

“It’s true,” I admitted for her.  “Bronze can’t help it.  But I’ll help her with that.”

“Rags tied around her hooves?”

“She’ll shred them in the first hundred yards; the edges are sharp.  No, I was thinking of a sound-damping spell, much like our stealth spells.”  Bronze nodded.

“Oh.”

“I’ll also do something about her gleaming hide.  We’ve done the sneaking thing before.  About the only thing we can’t change is her size.”

“What about the fire breath?”

“Light-shifting spell.  Moves all the visible light into another range.  Doesn’t do anything about the smoke, though.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

“Everything but the creative bits, apparently.  I’ve got you for that.”

“So, what do we do until tomorrow night?”

“Language?  Or magic?”

“Language,” Mary decided.  “I hate not knowing what people are saying.”

So we climbed into her headspace and practiced the art of conversation.

Wednesday, January 28
th

Amber reported a lack of T’yl.  Tianna did her best, but he wasn’t taking any sort of calls.  She called the mountain directly on a mirror—easy enough from inside the city shield.  When this failed to get a response, she physically trudged up to the palace area at the top of the mountain and searched for him.  No soap.  No magician, either.

I started to worry.  T’yl wouldn’t simply disappear on me.  At least, not if he had any choice in the matter.

After sunset, Mary insisted it was time for a haircut.  The toilet kit we brought included small scissors, so I held still and let her snip.  The haircut went fine, but seemed strange to have someone snipping away at my face.  I’ve never been fond of a beard.  It’s fuzzy and itchy.  Mary opted for a round, full style, rather than the narrow, pointed type.  It felt as though I wore a wide neck-blanket.

“There,” she said, finally.  “You’re magnificent.”

I picked up a hand mirror and regarded my lack of reflection.

“I’m not seeing it,” I admitted.  She made a noise and took the mirror away.  I chuckled and added, “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You know, there ought to be a way to see yourself.”

“I can use a scrying spell for that.  It’s like using a video camera and monitor.  I’ll get around to it.”

We regrouped in front of my new gate.  The power level was high enough to keep it running for at least a minute in a mere point-to-point hop.  We shouldn’t need more than ten seconds.  Ideally, we would never need to use it again, but my ideals keep getting compromised.

Someday, adventurers are going to come to Zirafel again.  They’re going to stumble on a magical gateway spell emplaced inside a broken grain silo.  They’re going to wonder how it got there and why.  They may even scratch their heads and ponder while considering whether or not it’s some sort of trap.  After all, who would put a gate spell inside a grain silo?  It makes no sense.

Actually, it makes perfect sense.  It’s all in the reasons why.  But
they
won’t know that.

We put on our sneaking spells.  In addition to a mild Nothing To See Here effect, we went with a collection of spells to lower our noticeability footprint.  There were the usual disguise spells for my color and Bronze’s, a secondary reflection damper to eliminate gleams and glints, and a sound damper to keep us quiet.  Bronze had a special variant placed on each hoof, specifically tuned to the tone of each one.

Watching her move around without so much as a click of metal on stone was eerie.

Interestingly, her Ascension Hide spell was still going when I started to work.  I was about to take it down when she tossed her head and did it herself.  All the power it stored inside swirled away, sucked into her.

I did not know she could do that.  She seemed amused at my nonplussedness.  A creature of many hidden talents, my steed.  She gives me hope.  It’s kind of like having a child who grows up to be brilliant, competent, and successful.  I’m proud of her for what she is, which is a different thing entirely from being proud of myself for making her.

Suitably attired and prepared, I set off the gate spell.  The gate opened.  Beyond, the canal gleamed and rippled in the moonlight.  The opening was defined by the opening of the boat barn and the surface of the water, which made me wonder.  If I opened a gateway underwater, would it come pouring through?  I think it would, but that’s an experiment for another time.

Bronze, Mary, and I hustled through immediately.  The water was about four feet deep, as I thought; Mary didn’t even get her hair wet.  Clomper, however, was not reassured.  She sniffed at the edge of the water and whickered.  For some reason, she didn’t want to step through a magical doorway into unknown waters in the middle of a dark winter night.  Unreasonable animal.

Bronze turned her head and speared Clomper with a one-eyed glance.  Clomper decided to join us.  As Clomper made waves in the cold water, I shut down the gate.  The view into an old granary ripped apart, disintegrated into the darkness between worlds, and became nothing but an empty boat barn.

Broad steps were carved—or, rather, grown—into the side of the canal, running along with the wall, recessed into it.  This made it easier to get water from the canal and also served as a safety measure.  The water level was about two feet lower than the lip of the canal where it ran past Mochara.  Climbing out could be difficult for a grown man; anyone who couldn’t reach the edge would otherwise have to swim downstream to the mill at the outflow.  Farther up the canal, that could be quite a trip, hence the periodic stairs in the canal walls.

We slogged to the stairs and helped Clomper out—Mary pulled, I pushed, and Bronze made sure she cooperated.  Bronze climbed delicately out without trouble.  I dried us off and warmed up Clomper, reflecting how regular horses may sometimes be more trouble than they’re worth.  Clomper already reminded me of all the reasons I stole an oversized fountain in the first place.

Getting into Mochara itself was a separate problem.  The city squared off against the canal on the east and the low cliffs to the south, but the outer wall was mostly a curve around the north and west.  We were near the northeast corner with a view down the eastern and northern walls.

There were a number of lesser gates in the stone wall along the eastern side of the city, where the canal acted as a moat.  All of those were sealed up tight for the night; the doors were really drawbridges for crossing to the farmland beyond the canal.  As I recalled, to the south there was one gate at the top of the low cliffs, leading to the sea.  I could see the northern section of wall had one big gate, near the canal; a series of boat-pocket offshoots terminated at a roadway leading from it for handy loading and unloading.  The western wall, however, had a gate specifically for the land traffic along the seaside road.

We discussed it and decided on the western gate.  Surely, they had protocols for how to handle travelers after dark.

We circled northward, crossing the canal at an arching stone bridge.  It was narrow, barely one haywagon wide, and probably meant for foot traffic.  It was high and steep; barges and the horses pulling them had to travel underneath.  It really needed to be longer and less steep to be a convenient bridge.  Unless the steepness was there to discourage
dazhu
from crossing… then it needed something like those cattle-stopping lengths of pipe at either end—the ones they hate to walk on, not a gate.  I’m sure the mountain could arrange it, but I doubt anyone thought to ask.  Note to self.

As we circled, I noticed another change.  Mary hadn’t mentioned it, but since I already told her about the canals, I suppose she thought I was aware of it.  There were
two
canals running north-south.  The boat-pockets in front of the north gate were connecting ways.  Was one canal for southbound traffic, the other for northbound, like a divided highway?  Go down one canal, pull through the turnaround at the end, and go back?  How much traffic did these things carry?  I could see a dozen men still at work, even at night, pushing and pulling canal barges by the light of magical lanterns.

We followed the road outside the wall, circling the city.  Homes and barns and other such buildings were scattered through the region, visible by darksight and moonlight.  It said something about the security of the kingdom that people were willing to live so close to the Eastrange without the protection of city walls.

Then it hit me.  Moonlight?  Wait a minute… The sun disappears at night.  It literally vanishes.  So how does the moon shed light?  Where I come from, the Moon reflects sunlight.  Here, though, without a sun to reflect, the moon must, obviously, generate its own light!

Silly extra-spatial visitor!  How else would the moon glow?  Doesn’t it glow in your world?

Sometimes I hate this place.  I mean I really, truly, hate it.  It offends my narrow-minded and provincial sensibilities regarding good universe design.  I should probably get over it.  It’s hard, so very hard, to overcome all those years of growing up with my version of astronomy and space and celestial mechanics.

I suddenly have a much greater respect for Copernicus and his heliocentric theory.  He challenged the prevailing ideas of how the universe was put together.  If I were to put forth the idea of the world going around the sun, people here would laugh at me, and they would be
right
to laugh at me.  If I took someone back to my world, they might have just as much trouble with a round world and all the rest of it as I’m having with
this.
  I know I’m not taking this well.  My pleasant, comfortable, familiar ideas of how a universe should be put together are contradicted by this silly nonsense.

There I go again.  It’s not silly nonsense.  It’s the truth.  It’s how this place works.  Badly, in my opinion, but I ought to learn to accept it, because it
is
the truth, rather than be resentful at how it doesn’t match my preconceived notions.  I really should.

Someday.  That’s going to be one busy holiday.

They kept the western gate of Mochara well-lit.  Magical lights surrounded it with a soft glow, and a number of posts along the road supported glowing globes, lighting the coast road toward the mountains for a couple of miles.  All of the sources were below the level of the wall, hanging down on the outside—a kindness for anyone trying to sleep?  The top of the wall was in darkness.  Was it to keep the night vision of the guards?  To reduce their visibility from the well-lit ground?

We approached along the road, in plain view.  I suspended our Nothing To See Here spell, along with the generalized sound-damper.  I left Bronze’s anti-clanging spells running, though, and the rest of our coloration stuff.  Aside from Bronze’s size, I thought we appeared pretty mundane.  We approached the gate.  Two guards emerged onto the road from a small watch station beside the gate.  Several more, atop the wall, sat up and took notice, but didn’t seem hostile.  Interested, but not concerned.

“Greetings,” one of the road-guards offered.  We halted.

“Salutations,” I replied.  “Cold night?”

“Agreed.  Long journey?”

“It’s a long walk through those mountains,” I replied, dodging the question.

“So it is.  See anything unusual?”

“Not really, no.”  I refrained from adding,
at least, not for us
.

“Here on business?”

“We’re here to visit the Temple of the Mother of Flame.  Will we have to wait until morning?”

“Oh.  No, I don’t think so.  Do you have money?”

“Is there a gate tax?”

“No, no—and I’m not asking for a bribe, either,” he chuckled.  “Part of my job is to make sure anyone entering isn’t a vagabond.  I can see from your horses and clothes you’re not poor, but I’m required to see the color of your cash.  Sorry about that.”

“That’s fair, I guess.”  I rummaged around and dug out the money we’d recovered from the amateur archaeologists.  “Not a lot there,” I added, handing him the pouch, “but we also have some gems, a bit of jewelry, that sort of thing.”

“Hey!” Mary protested.  “The jewelry is mine!”

“He’s not going to take it,” I answered, reasonably.  “It’s just proof we can afford to pay for things.  We’re not random riffraff.”  I looked at the guard.  “I’m right, aren’t I?

He looked in the pouch, bounced it on his hand to weigh it, handed it back.

“Quite so,” he agreed.  “And the lady’s jewels are of no concern; you’ve more than proven your worth.”  He tossed the pouch up to me and I put it back on my belt.  He waved up at the top of the wall and there followed a clunking, clanking noise from within.  “Names?”

“I’m Vlad; this is Mary.”

“Welcome to Mochara, Master Vlad and Mistress Mary.”

We rode in at a walk and they shut the gates behind us.

Mochara had changed.  The streets were straight and paved; gutters lined them, with obvious drains into underground sewers.  The place didn’t smell like an outhouse.  Lines of magical light ran along the curbs, clearly marking the boundary between road and sidewalk—they have
sidewalks!
—as well as casting a gentle glow over where you might put your feet.  Everything seemed cleaner, more orderly.  The general layout reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite place it.  A wheel, with spokes radiating from a center?  Yes, sort of.  I could almost recall a generalized city plan it seemed to follow.  Was it an Italian thing?  I might remember it if I looked down at it instead of walking along inside it.  Maybe I’ll look it up in my mental library, later.

Was all this change the effect of a tyrant king?  Or good city planning and a helpful pet rock?

Finding the Temple wasn’t hard.  A few people were still abroad even at this hour, and the local constabulary kept regular patrols.  We asked for directions and followed them.

The temple had grown a bit.  Sparky favored domes, apparently.  It’s possible she was the guiding architectural inspiration for all the arcs and arches and domes in Zirafel, too.  Her local temple was a smaller-scale version of the one in Zirafel.  It didn’t cover as much ground, but the general architecture was the same.

“Is the light inside from the goddess or from your daughter?” Mary asked, eyeing the doors.