Nightlord: Shadows (115 page)

I wish we could have cleared it. I would have liked to ride through Byrne’s territory. A spy satellite’s view is one thing. Cruising past villages and towns, talking to the locals—that’s different.

We thundered west, stopping only to let the dawn overtake us.

Crag Keep opened up the gate for me; Bronze carried me over the gap in the bridge again. Captain Dinuad held me up for a bit of conversation. He was nice enough to fail to mention anything about who I was, though. I appreciated that. And, since it was still early in the day, I let him persuade me to stay for lunch.

If it was a clever ploy to make me feel generous and agreeable, it worked. I wasn’t in all
that
much of a hurry; I could afford a couple of hours. Since they didn’t have a wizard on staff at the keep anymore, I played the part. There were a number of minor injuries and several old ones. What I didn’t fix I at least set up to fix itself over time.

I wanted a second waterwheel, some living stone, and a sawmill. The place really could be much nicer, but that would involve either a lot of people who knew what they were doing, or a lot of time.

Still, we helped out. Bronze helped clear a little more land by hauling some large rocks away. Firebrand helped with some tree stumps. I had to do the hitching for Bronze, of course, but Firebrand was much easier. I stuck it in a stump and left it there. It lit up, burned the tree stump to ash, and I recovered it from the hole.

I
like
my sword.

About midafternoon, though, I called it quits. I enjoy being helpful, doing my good deed, being thrifty, loyal, brave, clean, and some other stuff I don’t recall offhand, but we still had a long way to go.

Captain Dinuad and Lieutenant Leareth both thanked me and clasped wrists with me. If they had any aversion or misgivings about touching me, they hid it perfectly. Lacking any evidence of horrific monsterdom, they were choosing to ignore legends, gossip, and hearsay. I silently awarded them kudos for that and resolved to do something nice for them. Something more than a few healed injuries, moved rocks, and burned stumps, that is.

On the way home, instead of just heading due south, we headed east again until we hit the Quaen river. It diverted from the Averill, branching off southward through some low mountains or big, rocky hills. We followed it south, which let me look it over more closely. The northern portions weren’t entirely impassable; in some places, it was wide and slow enough that it might even be fordable, at least in the dry season. It picked up small streams and creeks, however, as it continued south.

Night fell by the time we reached Bildar. Bildar was a peculiar city, with some bases on either bank of the Quaen, but with the majority of the city placed on the bridge. Originally, it had started as a city with a bridge. Over time, it had grown onto the bridge, and the bridge was therefore widened. And more buildings were built on the widened bridge. So they widened it again. And so on.

At this point, Bildar was about a thousand souls or so—on either bank. The bridge, if one can call it that, was closer to ten or twelve thousand. It had three main thoroughfares wide enough to be a four-lane highway and a dozen smaller roads, while between the buildings were innumerable twisty little passages, all alike.

Still, the city was cleaner than you might think; drains were everywhere and gutters didn’t have far to go before dropping their burdens in the river. I’m sure people downriver didn’t appreciate Bildar turning the Quaen into a sewer, but what were they going to do?

The river was deep enough for some ships, rather than just boats. Bildar’s docks weren’t what I would call extensive, but they were still busy, even at night. Ships could pull up to the downstream side of the bridge and tie up there, but the bridge blocked passage for anything with a fixed mast. Smaller boats could row under it, effectively going through a tunnel under the main portion of the city. Bildar was a major trading center for this region and farther north. Bulk goods could cheaply sail up the river this far; after this, it was smaller lots, retail. Stuff could also barge down the river to Bildar, but almost had to stop there and to re-ship farther south.

The city was locked up, of course. I didn’t think it worthwhile to gain entry just to inspect the roadway.

We continued south, passing through or around various farming villages and towns. While there were a number of places one might land a ship, a ship was still a requirement, unless the troops could walk on water.

Yes, there’s a spell for that. Assuming you have one wizard for every three soldiers, it might also practical. But I’m not sure
I
have one wizard for every three soldiers—that is, one wizard competent to cast the spell and proficient with it.

I need new words. Magicians are powerful and well-educated. Wizards are professional spellcasters, the blue-collar workers in the field of magic. Sorcerers are quasi-demon-possessed people who traded their soul for some sort of specific power. What should I call people who know some magic, but don’t do it professionally? Most of my citizens fall into that category!

Dabblers? Magicians, wizards, and dabblers?

Well… I guess it’ll do until I think of something better.

Formia was the only other major city on the Quaen. Again, we didn’t want to go through the place because they don’t seem very hospitable.

I wondered, though, about their bridges over the rivermouth. How did they allow ships through? Drawbridges? They would almost have to be, wouldn’t they? Mental note for something to look at with the sand table or a magic mirror.

We slugged through silt again, cleaned up, and hustled homeward. Sentries on the wall of Baret waved at the flaming thing going by in the night; I waved back. Then it was through the mountains, along the canal road, around Mochara, and up to Karvalen. And with time to spare before sunrise, no less.

My first order of business was making sure Bronze’s manger was loaded with coal. It was; it had filled up while we were gone. I left her to crunch her way through it and fetched back some metal bits.

That brief trip should have taken months. She’s a wonder.

Since I had some time before sunrise, I used it to have an actual conversation with the mountain. A brief one; I only had a couple of hours.

Yes, it had something for me regarding the bridge; it was in my study.

Yes, it was very pleased to have people living in the city.

Yes, my running-water project was moving right along.

Yes, it had started on growing the new building in Mochara. (I mentally scolded myself for not stopping to look while I was going by.)

No, it didn’t need anything—unless there was something else I wanted? I agreed that there was, told it about my desire for underground tunnels for drainage and the like, as well as proper streets for Mochara. It assured me that wasn’t a problem.

A message from Kavel was already waiting for me when I reached my chambers. I read it, had my waterfall, and went down to the forges.

“How’s it going?” I asked, over the sound of hammering. Kavel wiped his face and beckoned me over to a large, vertical mold.

“We finished the pour yesterday,” he said. “That was tricky. The forge won’t hold enough steel to do it all in one go, so we had to get help from the wizards.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Majesty. They did that thing you did on the forge on the mold.”

It took me a second to parse that.

“They did a heat-containment spell on the mold?”

“Yes, Majesty. One of them even kept casting hot spells on the metal to keep it melted.”

“And you melted and poured a fresh batch of steel?”

“Twice. But we got it topped off yesterday and they wanted to drop the spells. I wouldn’t let them,” he said, sheepishly.

“Why not?”

“The mold is stone, Majesty. If they’d just dropped the things, it’d have cracked and we’d have a steel floor in here. I made them heat up the mold while they started undoing the thing that kept the metal hot.” He looked at the floor. “I may have yelled at Thomen a bit.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Kavel reddened.

“I might have also called him some things, Majesty.”

“Oh. All right, I’ll see if he’s upset. If he is, maybe I can get you off his fecal roster.”

“Majesty?”

“I’ll try and smooth it over.”

“Thank you, Majesty.”

I walked around the stone mold. It was a big, hollow cylinder, about eight feet high, with a center of solid steel. It was still hot to the touch, despite the airflow through the smithy room. Well, that was all right. I indicated to the mountain that this large block of stone could go away and leave behind the steel pillar. In a few hours, it could start cooling without an insulating blanket of rock around it. Then we could put it on the rollers and start drilling out a bore.

I still needed to work out a way to stop cannonballs. You train knights, you armor them, you arm them, and some jerk with a popgun blows them out of the saddle. It’s just not fair. But there were so many things that needed doing, and doing soon.

Okay, I’m a king. I can delegate. Some, at least. People can make mirrors for me; it looked as though I would need even more of them. I can also tell people to call the southern cities that already have mirrors and discuss things. We were still growing armor on people, but we were almost done; soon, I would get my own suit. I could probably delegate someone to build a bridge across the Averill—I should really check on what the mountain made for me. Later, later. I would have to handle the talk with the sea-dwellers myself, of course, to make sure that our sewage disposal wasn’t dumping in their living rooms. I also have to develop a spell to counter cannonballs—one that didn’t rely on brute force opposing brute force.

At least I could start on that last one, because I already had an idea: a transfer of momentum.

But first, to set things in motion, I attended my breakfast meeting with everyone.

“Busy day for me,” I started, without sitting down. “I’ll be in my workroom for a while, countering Byrne’s big weapons. Meanwhile, I would like a few things to happen. More of the twinned mirrors; someone please buy some more. We may be needing them. Also, find someone diplomatic and tactful and persuasive—Minaren, maybe; Tyma’s tongue is a bit sharp—and have him call up the cities we already talk to. I suspect I know what Byrne will be doing, soon.”

“Sire?” Kelvin asked.

“Yes?”

“What
will
Byrne be doing?”

“Oh. I think they’ll push southward, using the Quaen to secure their western border. Once they have everything between the Quaen and the Eastrange under their control, they’ll conquer their way along the coast. Then they’ll work their way north along the western bank of the Quaen. If any of the Rethven princes want to stop them, we’ll be happy to help. If they want to sit quietly and allow Byrne to trample them, they’re welcome to roll over. But we’re hoping to get a coalition together to fight them.”

“Thank you, Sire. That’s part of your message for Minaren to relay to the Princes?”

“I suppose it is, yes.”

“I shall speak to Minaren, then.”

“Thanks.”

“I beg your pardon, Master of Diplomats,” Seldar added, “but what about the
viksagi
?”

“They’re not really a bunch of bad people. They just want what everybody wants—good food, good drink, all that stuff. They just live in a rather inhospitable region and don’t always have enough of those things, so they cross the Averill now and again to take what they need. I’ve told them about the new bridge I’m putting in, so they’ll use it. It’s just a question of when. They’re less organized than the princes.”

“I see. So, no formal help from them, Sire?”

“Nope. But it’s still worth doing. Which reminds me—has anyone managed to find any of Byrne’s bronze rams?”

Heads shook all around the table.

“I believe,” Thomen told me, “that they have some magic shielding them. Until we find their location, we can’t begin to break it down.”

“And rain is wet,” T’yl noted, sneering at the wizard. Tort shot him a warning look.

“What I further believe,” Thomen continued, locking eyes with T’yl, “is that their magical shielding is clouding the vision of even scrying spells. They are not invisible, not truly so, but whatever we see in our mirrors or bowls has their presence removed. Hence, despite so many scryers searching, we have yet to see even one of these things.”

“Can you do that?” I asked. “Make something invisible to a scrying spell?”

“I can’t,” Thomen admitted, “but it should be possible.” T’yl looked openly disdainful. Tort merely nodded, looking thoughtful.

“Okay. Tell you what; keep people looking, but see if you can figure out how it’s done. Tort, will you help, please? If we can figure out ways to do it, maybe we can find ways to undo it.”

“Of course, my angel.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“By the way, Thomen. Kavel sends his regards and his sincere thanks for the wizards’ effort in making that metal pillar. He tells me that your work was vital to success, so I want to thank you. I’ve seen the thing, and I think I understand how much it took to make it happen. Good work, Thomen. Please convey Kavel’s—and my—congratulations to your Guild.”

Thomen blushed. I’m not sure he was used to praise and thanks. Being in charge of a guild of wizards was probably more a case of dealing with disasters and complaints than anything else.

“Sire,” Torvil said. “We also have, ah… some of the people of the plains want to talk to you.”

“Did they say why?”

“No, Sire.”

“Did they say it was urgent?”

“No, Sire.”

“What
did
they say?”

“That they wished to speak to the
nekelae
.”

“Where are they?”

“Camped on the northwest. Looks like a whole clan or tribe or whatever.”

“Offer them our hospitality.”

“We did, Sire. They declined to come into… into the ‘walking ghost mountain’.”

Well, when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound unreasonable
, I thought.

I agree
, said Firebrand.

That settles it; if you think it’s reasonable, it’s got to be exceptionally reasonable. You’re highly resistant to reason.

Thank you, I think.

“Fair enough,” I said, aloud. “Anything else that we can hit quickly?” Rendal lifted a hand and I nodded at him.

“Sire, your knights have undergone some sort of magical training. Would it be possible to begin similar training for the City Guard? I understand that it is your intent to, eventually, allow immigrants to gain status and position after serving in the Guard. Should not their training there be thorough?”

“Yes and no. Their year in the Guard should teach them more about respect for civilized behavior and the
proper
use of force, not just how to use more of it. That’s their primary lesson.”

“Ah. Very good, Sire.”

“But you’re right about Guardsmen in their second year or more,” I agreed. “Kelvin, Thomen—please work with Rendal on a schedule for them. They have regular duties, remember, so there will have to be some sort of rotation, obviously…”

They assured me they would sort it out. No one else had anything pressing, which was good. I wanted to get to work on my distribution-of-momentum spell while the idea was still hot and fresh. I handed the meeting over to Tort and disappeared into my workroom.

The reason people die from impacts—sword strokes, maces, car crashes, falling off buildings, whatever—is not the acceleration. Acceleration doesn’t hurt. Every time you jump into the air, you accelerate. The problem is
uneven
acceleration. A punch in the face will accelerate your head, but it will start with your nose and start it moving backward before the rest of your face gets the idea. A sword will try to move the part of you under the edge without moving the stuff to either side, resulting in a cut. Even an astronaut being launched into space has this problem; the seat behind him is pushing him forward, trying to shove his backside while his frontside is still wondering where they’re going. Give it enough oomph and you get squished astronaut.

What if an incoming object could have its force distributed evenly throughout the target in a perfectly inelastic collision? Instead of a cannonball hitting a breastplate, with predictable results, how about hitting the breastplate and transmitting that force out to every cell and atom in someone? If
everything
moves
together
, you don’t get the squish effect. Everything stays—as far as the subject is concerned—right where it is. Ribs don’t try to relocate; organs don’t splash; tissues don’t tear.

Think of it like gravity. Falling doesn’t kill you; you accelerate everything in your body at once, which makes it harmless. The sudden stop at the end, however, doesn’t affect the whole of you, just a sequence of body parts as they come into contact with the ground.

If this can be done, instead of making a hole, someone would suddenly start moving backward in the direction of the cannonball’s line of flight. Just slower.

How much slower? Depends on the mass of the cannonball, the speed it was going, and the mass of the target. It would average out. A one-kilo ball hitting a nine-kilo target would wind up being a total of ten kilos. If the ball started at ten meters per second, the combination of the two would wind up traveling at one meter per second.

Ratios. Nice. Finally, I can use math.

Boss?

“Hmm?”

Good time to bother you?

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. What’s on your mind?”

Tort wants to know if you’re coming to dinner and if you’ll have time for a meeting afterward.

“She asked you to ask me?”

Yep. You were busy, and she didn’t know if she could interrupt without disintegrating the world.

I didn’t ask if that was hyperbole. Tort has a very high opinion of me; she might have meant it.

“Tell her yes, to both. I’ve got the basics on this sorted out. Some of it came from aspects of that flying spell T’yl cast for me; it seems to treat a person as a whole unit, rather than directing forces from a direction. I’ve got that going on, so any transfer of momentum in or out of the system should affect the subject of the spell as if it were a particle, rather than a system of particles. But my spell still needs more work. I keep getting some thermal changes and I’m not sure why. It’s more than I like, though. At higher speeds and masses—like cannonballs—I’m worried that it’ll heat up a human enough to cause shock. It’s fine for me, at night, but living people are more sensitive to rapid temperature changes. I need a way to shield the subject from it, or work out how to vent it somewhere else.”

…am I supposed to understand all that?

“Not really, no. I’m just talking to myself.”

Bronze is up on the throne level.

“Oh, very funny. Wait. Throne level?”

That’s what people call it.

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

And you haven’t got long before dinner. Do you plan to get ready for it, or just show up? —Tort wants to know,
Firebrand added.

“I’ll be right up.”

And I was. I made it a point to arrive a little early, freshly cleaned, pressed, and polished, just to make Tort happy. She likes it when I clean up for dinner. I was awarded the Pretty Smile of Cheerfulness in reward.

Dinner was dinner; not much different about that. My recent trip to visit Hargus, though, made me especially conscious of the differences between the cultures, as well as the similarities. Entertainment here was less participatory, more performance-based. Music was more melodic here, rather than rhythmic. And, of course, there was a good deal more polite nothings, courtesy comments. Sometimes, I think the please-and-thank-you of a civilization can tell you more about that civilization than any of its technical achievements.

I did notice Sir Sedrick picking at his food, though. He didn’t seem happy; he seldom smiled, nor did he participate in the singing or the laughing. At a bet, something was on his mind. I had the young lady who was waiting on my table mention to him that I wanted a meeting after dinner, if he was available. A minute or two later, after she whispered in his ear, he looked up at me and nodded. Good.

Tort looked an inquiry at me. I smiled and nodded: yes, she was invited.

After the ceremonial goblet of blood, I called it quits for dinner. Tort got up with me and we headed up to my chambers. T’yl joined us in the hallway just outside his rooms.

“Majesty. May I have a word?”

“Of course.”

“In private?” he asked, glancing at Tort. I shrugged.

“Tort, if Sedrick shows up before I get there, please ask him to wait.”