Nightlord: Shadows (126 page)

“I’ve been talking to your knights,” she said.

“They’re good guys,” I replied.

“They are. And they have a lot of opinions on how to be a good knight.”

“I imagine they do.”

“They talk about it a lot,” she added.

“Oh? What do they say?”

“That it’s hard. They’re not sure exactly what makes them a ‘good’ knight, but they do seem to love debating it.”

“Good.”

“What do
you
think makes a good knight?”

“A knight should demonstrate the virtues of wisdom, courage, discipline—self-discipline, the only real kind—justice, hope, and love. He or she should be righteous in wrath, gentle in peace, noble at all times. Trustworthy—not merely honest, but worthy of trust. Loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, cheerful, thrifty, clean, and brave.

“In short, a better person than I am. And if he or she
can’t
be a better person than I am, they should have at least a fierce desire to.”

“You don’t want much, do you?” she asked, lightly seasoned with sarcasm.

“Only the best of what they can be. People can be horrifying monsters, unutterably evil, and more cruel than any Thing from the Outer Darkness. But they can also be all those good things I’ve described. The capacity is in everyone—I ought to know.” Lissette snorted. I chuckled. “I’m guessing you disagree.”

“A little.”

“Okay. But what I’m trying to build is a tradition that power and responsibility are intertwined. If a nobleman isn’t noble—if a titled individual does not use his power wisely and for the greater good—then he isn’t really a nobleman and will shortly be without a title.”

I grinned at her, showing teeth.

“I’m hoping the survivors will either adopt the tradition wholeheartedly or quit the job.”

She thought about that one for a while and we rode quietly, listening to the ringing sounds of Bronze’s hooves and the more dull, clanking sound of the other horse’s shoes.

“So, how do I become a knight?”

“It’s not easy, being a knight,” I countered. “It’s more than just a station in life. It’s a promise.”

“A promise?”

“I’m not qualified to be a knight, no matter how good I am with weapons. I’m not a good person. I’m just trying to be, and that’s the promise. I know I’m not good enough, but I’ve promised myself that I’ll try to be. Have you heard stories about their training, before I knighted them?”

“Yes. I’m not sure I believe them,” she admitted. “You can’t walk along a slack rope in armor.”

“You’d be surprised,” I countered. “But your disbelief tells me the entrance exam might be tough enough. I want it to weed out people who are afraid to attempt the impossible and who lack determination. Knights should be people who want to serve, rather than rule, and are determined to do so.”

“What about someone determined to rule? Or greedy enough, or envious enough, to be driven by it?”

“Good question. I’m starting to think you’ll make a good Queen,” I told her. “The physical exhaustion weeds out those without the will. Determining what they want comes later, when I look at their souls.”

“That makes me uncomfortable,” she admitted. “I don’t like the idea that you can just
look
at someone and know all about them. It’s… I don’t know.”

“It bothers me, too,” I admitted.

“It does? Why?”

“Because your soul should be your business. I don’t like looking at it, or reading your thoughts, or doing anything else that strips away your masks and leaves you naked and exposed. People should be allowed the privacy of their own hearts and minds. I usually only take a close look at what I’m eating.”

Lissette looked at me with an unreadable expression.

“You know, you frighten me,” she said, conversationally.

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

“Just so you know.”

“I’m not trying to,” I pointed out. She said nothing for a moment, thinking.

“I’m pretty sure that makes it worse.”

“Sorry.”

We exited the city. Going through the gates prompted a lot of saluting. I waved back. Once outside, Lissette resumed our conversation.

“You know, you’re asking your knights to be unbelievably… something. Noble?”

“I know. What I want are Lensmen, but I’m no Arisian, and I don’t think I can make a Lens.”

“What’s an Arisian?”

“Long story; at least six books’ worth. My point is that I do want them to be unbelievably noble, good, upright, righteous, and so on. They won’t succeed.”

“And you want them to try anyway? Knowing they’ll fail?”

“What did I say about being afraid to attempt the impossible? They’ll fail, but they’ll fail because they’re human, and therefore imperfect. If they fail because of a lack of commitment to
trying
, they aren’t the people I want for knights.”

“It’s okay to fail?”

“In this case, yes. It’s not about succeeding at… at… at walking that fine line between goodness and practicality. It’s about trying to be perfect
in spite of knowing
they’ll fail. If they ever give up, if they
can
give up, they’re not the knights I want them to be. You might say that’s the key quality to becoming a knight.”

“You might be the strangest king the world has ever seen.”

“Certainly the strangest Lord of Night,” I said, smiling. Lissette only nodded. “Regretting your marriage, yet?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”

“Really? I thought I was a disappointment.”

“How would I know? I’ve never been married. You seem to be surprisingly decent. It makes me wonder what horrible secrets are lurking underneath.”

“Just the usual.”

“After that lecture on how horrible people can be, I’m not sure that helps.”

We’ve been much more cautious on our march to Verthyn. We were getting close to known enemy territory so our scouts ranged farther out and we posted extra sentries. Thomen had the wizards’ corps casting shielding and blocking spells to cloud any attempt to locate or scry on us, just so we couldn’t be accurately targeted. I spent most of my nights ranging ahead and around, looking for some sign of enemy forces with the Mark One Eyeball, rather than magical scrying devices.

Okay, maybe Mark Two or Three. But still, I looked with naked eyes, rather than through a possibly-spoofed magical sensor. It was doubtful that Byrne had the magical forces to spare for concealing a whole army—wizarding types are comparatively rare in Rethven—but hiding a few squads of raiders might not be out of the question.

I did take a night to run Tort’s errand, though. Bronze blazed up the road, terrifying everything as she thundered by, bearing me on a fast tour around the northeastern portion of Rethven. We didn’t hit every city, but we got the major ones. Mael was north of Verthyn and we had no idea whose it was. I rode right up to the wall, carved off a piece, and was gone again before the sentries could do more than sound an alarm and take potshots at me. We repeated this process with Shaen and Danaan, then continued along the Eastrange to Delvedale.

I remembered Delvedale. It wasn’t much of a town, but it used to be a living one. The creatures in and under the mountains drove the humans out of it or killed them. It was a ruin.

I didn’t feel like sticking around to reminisce. We pushed onward, up to Blackrock, then circled east and south to Byrne, itself. Then down to Hearth, followed by a long run south to Faelor. I was briefly tempted to head west to Telen, just to see the place, but the night was moving along. We took the road to Mael, then south, past Verthyn. It was better than cross-country, I suppose.

Meanwhile, Tort racked up some overtime with the sand table; she got a good look at the march route to Verthyn. She examined the road ahead and everything for a mile or so to either side of it. Where necessary, she gave us an image through the main mirror, warning us of obstacles. As an example, we detoured around an area where the Caladar had flooded due to some storms in the Eastrange. We would have bogged down or floated away, otherwise; as it was, we didn’t get our feet wet.

She also opened a gate for a few seconds. I pitched a bag containing rocks from the city walls, each clearly labeled, and she pitched across a rolled-up tube of maps.

Which reminds me. I really need to see about building a
small
gate, maybe a foot across, for package handling. Maybe a slightly larger one, as well, for diving through. If I include a proximity trigger, I could take a run at it, dive through the suddenly-opened gate, and have it snap shut again. Both would be useful and cost substantially less energy to use. The main gate is suitable for riding a gigantic horse through; that much surface area means it costs a bundle to open.

Anyway, detailed city maps—hell, decent maps of any sort—are a new thing around here, but suddenly very popular. We used the ones of Verthyn to plan an assault, just in case. Our latest reports said it was still an independent city, but you never know. We might have to take it.

On the other hand, if we could use it as a forward base of operations to stage our invasion of Byrne’s territory, it would help a lot. We had plans for all three possibilities: take it by force, talk them into being friendly, or be welcomed as allies.

I really hope for that last one. I’m not looking forward to this.

Verthyn was in sight when my pocket mirror chimed. It was Tort, and she wanted to report something big. We made a hasty camp and unpacked the big mirror. Tort swam into focus and we all gave her our attention.

“The Quaen river has run dry,” she said. Quite a lot of people greeted this with expressions of disbelief, some of which were rather colorful. She insisted.

“The Quaen is no longer flowing,” she continued. “I have seen this all along the river’s course, from the rivermouth in Formia to the mountains near Clariet. The sea flows up and down through Formia, but only with the tides. The rest of the riverbed is mud drying in the sun.”

“How?” Huler demanded, then checked himself and softened his tone. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but the whole of the Quaen? I have seen the river and the ships that sail upon it. It is swift in the north and slows to a wide and deep river in the south. It is a mighty flow of water. How is this possible?”

“The mountains near Clariet, on the southern side of the Averill,” Tort replied. “A great prow of stone divides the Averill like a knife; one branch flows westward, which we call the Averill. The other branch is the Quaen river, flowing southward through a ravine and into Rethven. Someone has worked great destruction within those mountains, bringing down cliffs and overhangs, rocks and boulders. The headwaters of the Quaen are dammed and the Averill flows all the more hurriedly westward.”

There was a quiet moment at the table. I got out the largest-scale map we had and laid it out on the trestle table. With a word and a gesture, I started a spell to alter color; I ran my finger down the Quaen, temporarily erasing it. Everyone looked at the new map and started to wrap their heads around the changed situation.

“Byrne,” Thomen said.

“Obviously,” I agreed. “The question is, what are they trying to do? Cross the Quaen, yes, but where? And why? Just to expand westward?”

“It depends on where they attack,” Kelvin said, rubbing his jaw. He needed a shave; he’d been busy. “Bildar is hard to take; others have tried it, I hear.” Huler nodded, obviously the source of that intelligence. “Formia is too far south to be a real goal right now. So, I would think either Loret or Telen is the next target; they are both on the east side and vulnerable. With a city to tear down and a drying riverbed to cross… depending on how long it takes to sack the city, add another three days, maybe four, and Byrne will have a roadway across into central Rethven.”

“Isn’t Carrillon in central Rethven?” Seldar asked, and everyone considered that.

If Byrne could take Carrillon, Prince Parrin could take the throne. It wouldn’t make everyone fall in line, but it would certainly be a powerful symbol of conquest. Some cities—especially cities bordering his blooming kingdom—would be tempted to simply declare him King and throw troops behind him in the hope of avoiding anything more onerous. That could easily swell into a wave of conquest that might engulf Rethven in as little as a year, two at the outside.

Would that be a bad thing? I mean Rethven, as a kingdom, could use some unity and organization. Prince Parrin seemed to have that in mind. Good king, bad king, doesn’t matter; the first objective is to
unite
the remains of Rethven and turn it into a kingdom again. Is there some reason I should be against
him
doing it instead of
me?

Baret. Philemon. Brentwood. Wexbry. And everybody else who just recently wound up on my side of the war. Even if they gave up instantly and laid down arms, I doubted Prince Parrin would be terribly happy with them. At the very minimum, they would be taxed within an inch of starvation for a while. At worst…

Added to that is the presence of another kingdom. Mine. He wouldn’t like that they allied themselves with what he would have to think of as a foreign power. Worse, he wouldn’t like
having
a foreign power that close to his border. If he succeeded in reuniting Rethven, would he leave Karvalen alone?

No.

If that wasn’t enough, there was also the small matter of some personal assaults and attempted assassinations. Trying to kill me wasn’t unreasonable. Coming so close to killing Amber and Tianna, on the other hand…

Kammen said something scatological. People nodded.

“All right,” I said, “we have a new problem. Do we hurry like hell to Carrillon, assuming that’s where he’s headed, and defend it? Or do we try to intercept him on the way and meet him in the field? Or do we press on, taking back everything they’ve taken so he has no base of support? Or just go straight to Byrne and take his seat of power?”

“Majesty,” Huler said, “if we take back everything as we go, it is a roll of the dice. He may take Carrillon; he may not. If he does, he will have taken the most wealthy and well-defended city west of the mountains. He will prove that he can do it, and that will frighten people more than an army ten times as large.

“Even if he has no support in the east—if we take every single city, including Byrne—he is in a much better position to press his claim of kingship by doing so from Carrillon.”

“So, Carrillon is the key?”

“Politically? I believe so, Majesty.” Huler looked around the table. There were nods of agreement.

“So, straight to Carrillon? Or do we try and catch him in the open?”

“If we knew where he was, Sire,” Kelvin said, “we might plan a way to intercept him. We’re only guessing he’s at Loret or Telen. He could have been preparing to cross anywhere and be plowing across the mud as we speak.”

“Tort?” I asked, looking at the mirror. “Did you get that?”

“Yes, my angel. I must apologize. My efforts have been to discover what I may of the road before you and the cities you intend to face. I have given no thought to the lands outside that region.”

“Not your fault; I wasn’t thinking about it, either. Take a quick look along the Quaen, though, if you would, and see if you can find an army, okay?

“I will do so immediately and inform you of the results.” Her image faded away to reflection.

The council table turned to pandemonium.

I sometimes feel as though there’s some sort of agency watching me and waiting for a moment to poke something, just hard enough to tip it over, so that I have to scramble to catch it or watch it fall and bust into pieces. It didn’t start with the Hand trying to kill me for becoming a vampire; I’ve had this feeling ever since I was a kid. Stolen bicycles, vanished toys, pets that wandered off, friends that moved away, that sort of thing. It continued through my teenage years and followed me into adulthood.

This is not a quality one looks for in a military commander. It should be avoided in absolute rulers, too. Maybe I should pass a law.

We held off on formally greeting Verthyn and spent the rest of the day fortifying our camp with earthworks and ditches. At least we weren’t marching. Once we were dug in, we posted sentries and gave everyone the rest of the afternoon off. I can only imagine what the people in Verthyn were thinking. I didn’t much care if they were sweating; it might do them good to be a little scared of us. As long as they left us alone while we sorted out strategy, I was content.

Tort spent the rest of the day examining the former river; she called in to report only after darkness made it difficult.

I made a mental note to include some low-light and infrared filters for future night recon.

We set up around the council table and paid close attention.

“The army of Byrne has massed at Telen,” she told me, through the mirror. “They are laying a wooden roadway across the mud of the riverbed. I estimate that it will be complete in two days. I have also searched all along the Quaen’s course; there are no other bodies of troops assembled anywhere along it, with the exception of the northernmost reach, at the landslide dam. There are at least a hundred men there, prepared and positioned to guard the piled-up avalanche that forms the dam. I suspect, after much probing and work, that there are wizards present; my sight is blocked in strange ways. There could be some of the ‘cannon’ that you have described.”

“They mean to avoid having their supply lines and avenue of retreat flooded,” Huler said. Kelvin agreed with him.

“I suppose so,” Tort agreed. “Also, the force in Telen has obviously taken the place and sacked it further.” She looked at me apologetically. “It never truly recovered from your attack, my angel; it has been a town—a minor city, at best—for decades.” I shrugged.

“I didn’t attack them to be nice to them,” I noted. “All right. How many are there?”

“I estimate eight thousand. Six thousand infantry, perhaps four thousand well-equipped and two thousand militia or peasant levies. There are nearly a thousand horsemen, and easily a thousand archers.”

“They’re laying a wooden road?” Lissette asked, curiously. “How does that work?”

“They strip all the surrounding lands of trees and split the logs in half,” Tort explained. “They lay them down to form a flat surface, held in place by stakes driven into the ground. On this foundation, they lay tightly-wrapped bundles of sticks, as a mat, to spread the weight of feet, hooves, or wheels. As a road, it will not last, but it will allow them passage to and fro across the mud flats of the old river-bottom. They will cross before it dries, but when it does, it will form a much more stable bed.”

While she spoke, Seldar and Kelvin distributed markers on the main map to represent the new forces. We looked at the map for a bit, thoughtfully and somewhat glumly.

“That’s a lot of men,” Seldar finally observed. People agreed. Kelvin ran his fingers along the map from Byrne to Telen.

“To field such a professional force—that is, without the peasant levies—they must have stripped their defenses. We might encounter very little resistance if we march north and take the cities from Byrne.”

“And we might find that Carrillon falls,” Huler said, “and its survivors are pressed into service to expand from a new center.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” I pointed out, “if Prince Parrin is in Byrne. If we take Byrne and Prince Parrin, whoever leads the army winds up swinging in the breeze. Unless the Prince is leading the army himself?”

“We do not know,” Tort admitted. “I cannot find Prince Parrin any more easily than I can locate these cannon. He may well be traveling with his forces. I have had no reports on his whereabouts.”

“If a Prince takes Carrillon, Majesty, then presses his claim with an army such as that, it will work powerfully toward his conquest of the old realm,” Huler pointed out.