Nightlord: Orb (89 page)

The scryshields blocked most magical vision from penetrating.  Multiple layers performed different functions.  One acted like a wall, forcing a scryer to work to get through.  Another projects an illusion of a huge, lidless eye of flame, seemingly looking back at the spy.  If someone penetrates that, the next layers divert the scrying sensor so it manifests somewhere I want it, rather than where the caster wanted.  And that point is, of course, inside a complex illusion spell so the caster doesn’t know his vision has been diverted.

Those were the starting shields.  Since the last time I looked, they added more.  There was a general shield against mind-affecting magic.  Sending the whole city a psychic message wasn’t going to work unless you were already inside… and the same went for controlling minds, influencing thoughts, or nudging public opinion in the polls.

There were more direct defenses, too, designed to block or blunt attacks of various sorts, both magical and mundane.  Some spells monitored the area inside the shields.  These were simply alarms or sensors, detecting all sorts of things, ranging from invisibility spells to demonic creatures.  Other spells each detected a type of effect, probably for the use of the city guard—it’s good to know when a fire gets larger than a fireplace can hold, or when someone cuts loose with a bolt of lightning.  Were these Rendal’s idea?  Or was he in charge of them?

Most of these defenses were controlled and monitored.  Somewhere in the undercity, a few hundred feet below me, there might be a wizard sitting quietly and watching the way these spells glittered and flickered.  It might be a dozen wizards.  Or it could be a bunch of apprentices barely keeping half an eye on the things while they played
défi.

Are the defenses there for serious reasons?  Are they forethought made manifest, anticipating their need and use?  Or are they a continuation of what I started because… well, because I started it?  I put up the first city-sized dome.  That made it relatively easy to build onto it.  If someone gives you a barn full of tools, you naturally want to build things, I suppose.  Or did someone put them there after a demonstrated need for them?  Are they proactive or reactive?

I need to find Tort.  To do that, I may need to find T’yl.

The underdoor chime sounded.  I swore aloud.

“Firebrand, remind me to put a visual on all the alarms tonight.”

I’ll do that, Boss.

I stomped down to the entry room and stopped outside its upper door.  I opened up a small scrying window in my hand mirror.  No one was in the room, but the lower door was open.  At a guess, someone came in without authorization and the intimidation and deterrence spells did their job.  The cold, the low-frequency sound waves, and the strong positive-ion atmosphere made it an extremely unpleasant room.

I gave the mountain a message.  After a while, it shifted a tiny bit of mass around in the lower door.  With it ever so slightly out of balance, gravity swung it slowly closed.  People could still push it open, but at least it would close behind them.  Maybe I should install a manual signal at the top?  Say, a bell they can ring to say they want attention and they’re determined to stay until they get it?

On the other hand, I still didn’t know who tried to come in.  It shouldn’t be a problem when I added a visual to the psychic alarm, but for now it was a mystery.  Well, if it was important, they’d try again.  In fact, they might be trying right now, headed up the Kingsway.  Or they might have decided bothering the Demon King wasn’t really worth it.

Still grumbling to myself, I went upstairs, out through the great hall, and around through the courtyard.  Yes, someone was coming up the Kingsway.  He didn’t look at all happy about it.  His horse didn’t seem too pleased, either, but I believe—at least for the horse—it was an effect of the height, not the destination.  They were taking it at a walk, so it would be a while.

This was somewhat annoying.  By the time I made it into my projects again, I’d have to answer the door.  I needed something to kill a little time.

There are stairs along the inner wall of the courtyard, leading up to a parklike area.  This place has dirt, trees—all the things you might expect to find on top of a small mountain.  It was actually a garden; most of the plants were edible in some form or fashion.  Trees had nuts and fruit, vines and bushes had berries, and so on.  Nothing was in season at this time of year, of course, but it was worth a walk-through as a winter garden.

I went up the stairs and followed the paths spiraling around the mountaintop, just for the feel of it.  It needed a gardener or three and a chainsaw, but it was a nice contrast from the cold, smooth courtyard.  It hadn’t actually gone wild, but when Spring arrived, it would.  All it needed was some snow and it would make a good picture on a calendar.

Nesting all around the base of the big, pagoda-like chimneys were families of
thashrak
—leather-winged snakes, basically.  They didn’t seem to mind my looking at them.  I think they were too happy just being near the chimney heat.  There were more of them than I remembered.  I wondered about population control.  Since they were native to the southern continent, they might need the warmth of a chimney stack to survive the winter.  That could limit their population.  If not… Can I domesticate them?  People could use them in place of cats to cut down on mice and rats.

Okay,
I
could use them so.  Cats avoid me.  These things don’t seem to mind so much.

I came back down the steps into the courtyard, still thinking about it, and paused halfway down.  A spirit, standing in the shadow of the peak, watched me as I came down.  He was translucent and nearly colorless, but I could see him.  There seemed to be some sort of silver wire coming out of his midsection, like the tied-off portion of a long belt.  This wire floated in the air, fading out after about three feet.  He wore a pale headband of some sort—not a reflection of an item of clothing, but some sort of spell.

I must have stared too long.  He noticed me staring and it startled him.  Fear crossed his face.  He tugged on the silver strand and it pulled him away from me; he shrank into the distance.  A moment later, he faded from view completely.

Ghosts don’t bother me.  Spiritual visitations don’t bother me especially, either; most people won’t put their immortal soul anywhere near a nightlord.  It’s on par with coating your hand in meat sauce before trying to tummy-scratch a hungry tiger.  This, however, bothered me.

The spirit was wearing slacks, shirt, and a tie.

Magi?  It would seem so.  The clothes certainly didn’t belong
here
.  How could they follow me?  Did they have the spells for that?  It was possible; I never had a chance to see an index of all their spells.  From meals, I knew they thought of travel to otherworldly realms in terms of “spirit realms” rather than physical locations.  Astral projection into those realms—and apparently this world—wasn’t unheard-of.

At least eating a bunch of magi was good for something.

I wasn’t sure how they could track me down, though.  Hitting the right world might not be unreasonable—they could, in theory, use the magical or psychic resonance off the point where Mary and I departed.  Come to that, if they found the place I arrived over there, it could help, too.  And, of course, if they were the ones who stole the Black Ball… yeah, that would make things relatively simple.

But how could they find me?  It’s one thing to find a planet, but once you’ve found the planet, how do you find one person on it?  Go looking?

Or get advice from someone?

They could have asked around.  People around here don’t necessarily scream and run by default when confronted by a spirit.  A sufficiently-powerful projection might even be mistaken for a living person—at night, at least.  But then there’s the language problem…

Oh, who am I kidding?  The Magi stole the Black Ball and it’s encouraging them to come after me.  It was pretty much the worst thing I could think of, so, naturally, it was happening.

There’s one good thing about it, Boss.

“There is?”

At least we’ll have leads on how to find it.  If they keep sending people over, you can catch one and quiz him.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” I agreed, sitting down on the lowest step.  “Not a bad idea at all.”

You’re so generous with your praise, Boss.  Is my face flaming?

“Not a bit.  Thanks, Firebrand.”

Someone has to do your thinking for you.

“Yes, but Tort isn’t here.”

That’s just mean, Boss.

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” I told it.  I sat down on one of the inner wall’s steps and listened to the slow clop of approaching hooves on the Kingsway.

The horseman finally made it to the top.  The horse decided it had enough of the long, narrow bridge and bolted the last few yards.  It clattered into the courtyard amid the rider’s curses and finally came to a shivering, sweating halt.  The rider dismounted and left the horse where it stood.  He approached me and I sized him up.

He was a tall man, although starting to stoop with age.  Grey salted his hair and streaked his beard.  He wore a light, long sword, slightly curved; it reminded me of the type I had made for Malana and Malena, patterned after an elvish design.  Maybe they were in fashion.  It hung from a belt-and-baldric, along with a red knight’s sash as well as a ribbon and badge I didn’t understand.  His clothing was good: high boots, tight trousers, billowing shirt, and broad-brimmed hat.

“Are you Halar, King of Karvalen, Conqueror of Rethven, and Lord of Carrillon?” he asked.

Why does no one understand how to greet a person?  I mean, whatever happened to “Hello!  My name is… I’m pleased to meet you.  May I ask who you are?”  Am I hopelessly archaic?  Or am I oversensitive about these things?  Is it a problem with me, rather than everyone else?  Maybe I should just get over it.

“I’ve been called all those things and more,” I agreed, not standing up.  “Who are you?”

“The Baron of Karvalen requests the honor of your presence.”

And so it begins.

“Well,” I replied, leaning back a bit to look up at him.  I took note he failed to remove his hat.  “It seems to me you haven’t answered my question.  Who are you?”

“I am merely a messenger—”

“I’ll have your name!” I snapped at him.  “Name!  Duties! 
Now!
”

“Sir Telmon, Herald of the Baron of Karvalen,” he replied, startled.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I told him, and rose.  I held out my hand.  He looked at it with a puzzled air, still recovering from the sudden shift between mild-mannered, impatient, and mild-mannered again.  He reached out and squeezed my forearm; I returned the gesture.  Not quite what I had in mind, but, well, local customs.  What can you expect?

“Now,” I went on, still pleasantly, “I understand the baron would like to see me.  Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” I prompted.

“Yes… Your Majesty?”

“That’s better.  You may tell the baron I will be pleased to receive him at his convenience.”

“His lordship bid me return with you.”

“You can’t.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, looking miffed.

He said you can’t bring him with you,
Firebrand supplied. 
What he really means is he’s not going anywhere and you don’t have the power to force him.

Sir Telmon’s face shifted into neutral and locked there.  If he could do that at will, he could be a murderous poker player.

“On the other hand,” I added, smiling, “the baron is welcome to visit whenever he chooses to dare the Kingsway.”

“He will not like this,” Sir Telmon warned.  I gestured him closer, then closer again.  I laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“He sent a messenger with a summons to the man he calls his King.  So tell him exactly this:  The baron is welcome to visit whenever he chooses to dare the Kingsway.  Say nothing else about this matter.  Do you understand?”

“I do.”

I tightened my grip on his shoulder, pressing fingernails into his fancy shirt.

“Excuse me,” I offered.  “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I do, Your Majesty.”  I let go of him and he stepped back to bow.

“You have our leave to depart.”

He did, or tried.  His horse didn’t like the idea of being ridden down the ramp, though, so he wound up walking, leading his horse.

You seem irritated, Boss
.

“I am.”

Why?  He went away.

“Yes, but it feels as though I’m being roped into being a ruler again, somehow.  I don’t like it.”  I thought for a moment.  “Maybe I should call Lissette.”

Maybe you should.

“Then I will.”

I checked the mirror in my workroom.  It was already enchanted for all the purposes I was going to need from it, so calling the capitol was no problem.  Except… it was a problem.  I didn’t have the specifics of a mirror to target in the palace—I didn’t know the phone number, basically.  I could hit anything in Carrillon outside the Palace, but calling the Palace required more specific information to connect with a mirror inside the defenses.