Nightlord: Shadows (99 page)

We started shuttling them around the Eastrange, carrying groups of soldiers in the fishing boats. They had mixed feelings about that, but what were they going to do? They were spread out too much to argue effectively. We sailed around the horn of the Eastrange, dropped them at the first spot where they could walk, and went back for more.

Yes, we provided them with two days of food and water. Good thing, too; Baret closed its gates to them and told them to start hiking. I wondered if Prince Banler’s opinion would carry any weight. He gave everyone the impression that only a moron would piss me off and that they were welcome to all the pity he could give them, as long as they didn’t stand too close to
him
. I’m sure that will get back to the respective Princes.

I really had no intention of destroying any of the cities in question. All I wanted was for them to consider it as a possibility. It wasn’t really on the table. Maybe that was a mistake, in retrospect. If I don’t destroy a city, people may think I’m bluffing. Then again, maybe they will come through with the alternative. I’d like to turn them into trading partners and allies rather than craters.

Meanwhile, a few of the larger boats went east to salvage what they could from the plunder left behind. The armor and weaponry might not be Karvalen steel, but they were still armor and weapons. I wasn’t going to pass that up. It’s hard to have an effective fighting force if you can’t supply them. We started out by replacing stuff I salvaged from Keria’s initial attack. Eventually, we were stuck with a pile of
orku
gear that nobody wanted or needed. Kavel’s thrown most of it into the mountain’s recycling bin.

I probably have the most well-equipped militia in the history of Rethven, possibly the world.

I went back to Karvalen while my knights handled prisoner transport and loot organization. Somewhere up in the Eastrange was another major force; I meant to find it. The sand table wasn’t much help, though. I decided they must still be underground. If they were still there at all, of course.

While Amber entertained dignitaries from Wexbry, Philemon, and… wherever else; I didn’t pay much attention… I rode along the Eastrange Road. Nobody was getting mugged, so that was a good sign, but I wanted to check on my chlorine curse. It was doing quite well, especially recently. I asked it questions about the undermountain regions and got the impressions and emotions you would expect from a shark. It was as happy as a shark can be, I suppose.

Still, that was enough to tell me there was a sizable force down there. It was fairly far north from the road, though; apparently, they didn’t want their staging area too close to a region known to be haunted by something horrible. Given the effect chlorine gas has on a body, “horrible” is the right word, too.

Unfortunately, all my reasons for not going down there still applied. Moreso, if anything.

All right. If I’m not going down there, they’re going to come up here. To do that, they need a tunnel. Not a small one, either. Something a man can walk through easily, preferably something a horse could walk through. That was a minimum. It was only a few hours’ march to Mochara; they couldn’t afford to string out. They would have to come out, form up, and march as a body.

Where might that tunnel be?

I tried spectrum-shifting, but my x-ray vision doesn’t work so well through hundreds of yards of rock. My ground-penetrating radar ran into the same problem; it only penetrates so far. How could I see through the ground?

Well, archaeologists and oil companies create subterranean sound waves to map out subterranean caverns, pockets of oil, and so on. I tried it with a fast-and-dirty spell. Bronze leaped into the air and came down hard, all four hooves together, creating a huge thud and an amazing ringing sound. I felt the shockwave and the echoes like a ripple in my skin.

Yes, I was sure there were tunnels and caverns in the mountain we were on. I couldn’t sense anything better than that, though. They were there, but I couldn’t even tell where they were; the echoes were too confusing. Maybe, with some time to get the hang of it—to understand what I was feeling and to relate it to something I already knew—I could learn to interpret it. Until then, it was like one of those weird pictures that you have to kind of cross your eyes to see, and I couldn’t.

On the other hand, it did give me an idea. While I might not understand how to map the echoes, that massive whack Bronze dished out—or dished into the solid rock of the mountainside—might be
audible
near the mouth of a tunnel. I have inhumanly sharp hearing, after all.

We worked our way northward along the eastern side of the Eastrange. Through the Bronze-stomp method, I found two major tunnels that would do very nicely for an army; people could march out four abreast. One of those was the obvious choice; not too far up from the plains and along a gentle slope, easy to march down. The other one was about the same height, but the rocky ground required some climbing. I also found three more openings, although those were much smaller. Those three could accommodate one person at a time, so were only useful if the army wasn’t in a hurry.

I eyeballed the moon. It was sinking, so I didn’t have lots of time. How did I want to do this? I could mold stone by hand and spell, so I could just seal the cave mouths. That would annoy people, but it would only delay them for an hour or so while they tunneled out. I could plant magical charges in the tunnels, but someone would be sure to notice them. Again, it would delay them while they defused them, but not by all that much. I could bring down the mountainside, bury the tunnel mouths in an avalanche, but, again, it would be a delay of a different sort. They would have to detour to some other tunnel and march farther, that’s all.

What I wanted to do was put some dynamite in the mountainside, wait until they were halfway out, then bury the middle third of them in an avalanche. That would leave one third on the plains, one third dead and buried, and the other third cut off. While I could easily make some explosive spells, I didn’t feel comfortable just leaving them lying around.

How do you kill thousands of hostile troglodytes without going into their caves? I didn’t have my own briar patch to lure them into this time.

I puzzled on that one for a while.

I could make another chlorine monster, but, dangerous as they are, they could be killed. My current curse was a stealthy predator. Sending in a dozen to just attack would provoke a magical response and would probably ruin the mysterious nature of my chlorine curse monster.

I could pump in a lot of plain chlorine gas, if I had a lot of salt. The problem was, first, I didn’t have a lot of salt, and, second, chlorine has a powerful odor. If it’s not bound into a chlorine elemental to keep it concentrated, they would smell it long before it became dangerous.

Explosive gases, maybe? I could get hydrogen out of water, certainly. The problem with hydrogen is that it rises; it might not go into the caverns they were using as a staging area.

I thought to check the airflow. The tunnels sucked in air. Doubtless, somewhere far up the mountains, air was rushing out. So I could gas them, in theory, if I had something invisible, odorless, neutrally buoyant in air, and deadly.

Nerve gas would be ideal. I just didn’t have any. There might be some I could find if I went through my gate, but could I drag enough back in time for it to be useful? Probably not.

If I couldn’t poison them, could I suffocate them? Carbon dioxide? Carbon monoxide? I’d need a hell of a fire for that—several of them, really, to provide gas at each tunnel mouth. I would probably need to go looking for any others, too, if that was going to work… but all those fires might attract attention, which I wanted desperately to avoid. My big advantage, for the moment, was that they didn’t know I was there.

On the other hand, they probably knew things had gone wrong. Anyone with a crystal ball and two brain cells would have seen the captured troops streaming home. Doubtless, the only question now was whether or not they would attack anyway or pull back to plan again.

They were still here. My money was on the attack.

Wait a minute.

Suffocation isn’t about breathing something bad for you. It’s about failing to breathe something you need—oxygen. I have a spell for Kavel’s forge that acts like a filter; it strains out a lot of the nitrogen in the air so that a higher ratio of oxygen is provided to the fuel. Reversing it and pumping it up, I could have it filter out just about all the oxygen the tunnel mouths sucked in. Quietly. Unobtrusively.

Anoxia is sneaky. It’ll cause someone to pass out and then they can’t get out of the de-oxygenated air, with predictable results. The beauty of this was that the air would still smell fresh and clean; there would be nothing to connect the sudden plague of unconsciousness with the air. And, since there would be no spells in the area, no magic would be detectable, either. It would be a complete mystery.

I like that. There is nothing so frightening as the fear of the unknown, as I mentioned to Fred.

Even if it didn’t get far enough in to kill anyone immediately—it might mix with air from other sources, ones I might not find—if they tried to head out to the plains, marching down a tunnel with no oxygen would certainly kill some and seriously worry the others. Without understanding what was going on, they might spend days trying to figure it out.

Well, nothing ventured…

It was a long day of exploring the surface of the Eastrange, looking for cracks, holes, tunnels, and caves with air flowing into them. On the other hand, I feel confident that the air quality in that region is absolutely abysmal.

Bronze took me back to Mochara in time for dinner; Amber and Tianna were pleased to see me.

“You look tired,” Amber observed.

“Yep. Long day fighting against the hordes under the mountains.”

“Did you win?” Tianna asked.

“Well, they didn’t get me, so I haven’t lost.” She accepted that and we sat down to eat. Amber and I discussed some of the things the dignitaries wanted. They were, as she put it, “a bunch of polite bastards.”

“Oh?”

“They remind me of Melvin. They’re more tactful, but they still think of Mochara as a backwater little town, not a peer.”

“Hmm. We need to impress them, is that it?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay. But that leads me to another question. Is it going to be a problem when I build a huge city hall?”

“City hall?”

“A civic center where the business of ruling the city can be done. Other cities use a Prince’s Palace, I think. Or a wing of it, maybe. I’m not totally sure.”

“Oh.” She frowned for a moment. “Would that mean I have to live there?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. It would be more convenient for your ruling responsibilities if you did; the commute to work would be short. But that might interfere with your religious responsibilities.” I shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Can you put the civic center near the Temple?”

“If you can talk people into clearing a space for it, yes. I don’t relish the notion of throwing people out of their homes and shops because I want to put up a fancy building.”

“I’ll ask.”

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it both ways. She would ask them for me, and she wouldn’t just tell them to do it.

“They’ll want money, of course.”

“Offer fair prices,” I advised. “If they still won’t move, find out why. I’ll try to negotiate if they’re adamant.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Tianna and I rode around Mochara for a bit; she enjoyed it immensely, as did Bronze. We also watched the fishing ships ferrying more people along. I made it a point to send another barrel of dark beer to Banler; maybe that would help make up for the inconvenient foot traffic. I like him. He’s the most straightforward Prince I’ve met, and he reminds me of Xavier.

The boats were really ferrying only officers and noncoms. A few regular grunts also came along, when there was room. Most of the rank-and-file, though, still had to walk back. While Bronze and I were up in the mountains, I pretty much ignored them and they pretty much stayed out of our way. But, without anyone to tell them where to go or what to do, I felt it was reasonable to let them walk. They weren’t in any real danger and were unlikely to become auxiliaries in a military unit anytime soon.

Besides, Mochara needs its fishing fleet to bring in fish. People get hungry.

“Grandpa?”

“Yes, Tianna?”

“Can I ask you a question about magic?” She was watching a wizard draw on a house. It looked like an anti-vermin spell, probably one to drive them out. The square with the arrows extending out from it in all directions was kind of a clue.

“Sure.”

“Why is it that when you do a spell, you just look like you’re seeing something that isn’t there, then stuff happens? Everyone else does stuff, like draw or wave their hands or chant or something. I know you see the spell in your mind, but why doesn’t everyone do it that way?”

“I cheat.”

Tianna tried to turn around. I lifted her up so she could turn, then she settled onto Bronze’s neck. Bronze’s mane spread out and supported her as though she was sitting in a chair. Tianna then looked at me keenly.

“You do not. You’re honest.”

Well, what do you say to that?

“Maybe I don’t mean cheat, exactly. Mortal wizards and magicians can cast spells the same way I often do—well, some of them can—they just don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a good question. Come with me.”

We went down to the place where the ships were unloading fish and I borrowed a small basket.

“Okay, we’re going to cast a spell. Not really, but I’m going to walk through it with you so you can see how it works. Okay?”

“Okay!”

I put the basket down on a large rock, near the cliff face.

“Now, I’m going to start drawing on the wall. Every time I draw something new, I want you to pick up a rock and put it in the basket. Got it?”

“Got it.”

So we did. I got out my chalk and drew a circle on the cliff face. Tianna put a rock in the basket. I started drawing fake arcane symbols around the circle. She put more rocks in the basket. I added some more lines. She added more rocks. I waved my hands and she got the idea; she put another rock in the basket. Then I chanted some nonsense; she giggled and added more rocks.

I finished by pointing my finger and shouting, “Zap!”

Tianna applauded.

“Okay,” I said, “now that I’ve cast the spell and levitated a basket of rocks, how hard was it? Are you tired? Did you manage to get the basket of rocks up there without too much trouble?”

“Sure!”

“Good girl. Now,” I said, taking the basket down and setting it on the gravelly beach, “I’m going to cast a spell my way. It’s very quick, because I’m going to just visualize that whole arrangement, there,” I said, pointing. “I’m not going to draw it, or wave my hands, or chant. I’m just going to see all that in my mind. Can you do that?”

“Sure.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay.”

“Very good. Now open your eyes and watch me. I’m casting my spell by visualizing it, holding it complete and entire in my mind, then putting power into it to make it
real
. When I do, it’ll be quick, so you’ll have to lift the whole basket at once. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Go!”

She heaved and grunted, muscling it up the rock, putting a knee under it, lifting again, shoving it up higher and higher until she could push it sideways onto the top.

“Good work. Now, which way was quicker?”

“This one,” she said, breathing heavily.

“And which one was easier?”

“The first one.”

“There you go. The first way lets you work on the spell in pieces, bit by bit; you can even have a lot of people help you with it, maybe. The second way is faster, but takes a lot of concentration and brute strength.”

“And other people don’t have those?”

“Sure they do. But I have
lots
, because I’m a nightlord.”

“Oh, so that’s why your magic is so powerful.”

“That’s certainly one of the reasons,” I agreed. “I also do things differently.”

“Differently?”

“I use math and physics. Most people aren’t mathematical wizards.”

“I’m learning math!” she declared. “You’re teaching me!”

“Yep.”

“Could I be a mathematical wizard, too?”

“I really don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m not sure there’s ever been a fire-witch who was also a wizard. It may not be possible, but we can ask your mother. She’ll know.”

“Okay!”

Of course, that meant we had to go back immediately and ask. I dumped out rocks, returned the basket, and we rode up into Mochara. We detoured to Tort’s house, mainly to avoid tempting fate; sunset was coming soon and I didn’t want to have a transformation on Sparky’s property.

Pilea and Parva met us as we came in. We traded pleasantries, I introduced Tianna, whom they recognized, and introduced them to her. Tianna gave them a perfect curtsey and all the polite things one says.

They seemed a little confused that I just wanted to use the privy, then they seemed to get the idea. Kings aren’t supposed to pee in the street. Well, that was close enough for my purposes; I didn’t correct them.

It also helped explain the smell in Mochara. If it was acceptable for people to just squat wherever they felt like it, the whole city was, literally, an open-air cesspit. I underwent my change in a decidedly irked frame of mind. Something was going to be done about the cesspool problem, I vowed.

Once cleaned up and dead, I came back out, thanked them for their work in keeping the house ready for Tort. Then I took Tianna home.

Amber wasn’t against the idea of Tianna learning magic, but also wasn’t sure she was for it. Reading and math, yes; waving sticks around and pretending they were swords, reluctantly okay. Magic? It would take up more study time.

Tianna begged and begged, but didn’t get a definite answer. She went to bed with the air of one whose life is in turmoil and who sees no resolution on the horizon. Once she was upstairs, I turned to Amber.

“I have a suggestion,” I offered. “I’m not trying to interfere, just offering.” Amber looked interested.

“Go ahead. You’ve been good about being a grandfather, rather than—” she broke off. “Tell me your idea.”

“I can arrange to have wizardly tutors come by to teach her for as long as you’ll let them. Since her studies and prayer and practice are not optional, she can devote as much of her free time to magic as she likes. Of course, now she can play with other kids—does she?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then she’ll have to choose what to do. She may get sick of dry, boring lectures and exercises on concentration and focus and the like.” I shrugged. “Who knows? That sort of training might help with her fire-witchery. But if she does get bored with those lessons, the tutors stop coming by. If she doesn’t, then she really likes it and should be encouraged. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a better father than you let on,” she said. I stared at her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

“No, you probably don’t.” She shook her head. “Forget it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think you have people to see in Mochara.”

I paused to think about it. There were things tugging at me, wanting my attention, yes.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I always know when someone is nearing their end,” she said. “Especially when there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, I’ll be on my way, then.”

“Wait.”

She came up to me, hugged me, kissed my cheek.

“Now you can go.”

I bowed deeply to her and went to find someone dying.

It still amazes me how quickly people have adapted to the idea around here. I knock and they let me in to take someone into the afterlife. I guess it helps that they live in a world full of magic and gods, where they know that sort of thing is real. Then there’s also the mystique of having the King pay them a visit. It’s like they just automatically accept that anything the King does is the right thing to do, at least for the King.

Is that any different than a nightlord doing what a nightlord does? I think it is, or should be. A king is a person doing whatever he decides to do. A nightlord, at least in theory, is a creature that does what it is supposed to do, what it’s meant to do—can I say “designed” to do? A king doesn’t have to pounce on a gazelle and eat it; lions do.

I guess I still don’t like the idea that they all think there’s something mystical and special about kingship. On the other hand, I shouldn’t complain; it’s the only reason they listen to me.

Tonight, I helped an elderly couple who were ready to go; one of them didn’t really have much choice and the other wasn’t willing to stay behind. I then paid a call on some other homes where the deceased were already semi-departed. I wasn’t there when they died, but, as with what’s-his-name, the guy I found off the road in the mountains, their spirits were still there. I escorted a trio of ghosts to meet the Grey Lady.

They shouldn’t have been there that long. I dropped in on the House of the Grey Lady to see why the ghosts hadn’t already departed.

Simple. No priest or priestess. Since it was late, I made sure to leave a note for Amber; we needed to find someone for that. I don’t mind doing psychopomp taxi service; it feels right and proper to do so. I’m
helping
someone, and I always get a kick out of that. But I’m also unpredictably unavailable. That’s not fair to the passengers. If they can’t fly Air Vampire, they should at least be able to hitch a lift.

Another thing occurred to me. I drink blood. When escorting a live person into being a not-alive person, I take all the blood out of them in the process. Is that by design? It makes the bodies less squishy, certainly, and easier to cremate.

Was vampirism created by intelligent design? Come to that, how
did
vampirism start?

Fortunately for me, I have a shelf in my headspace where I keep that class of question.