Nightlord: Orb (93 page)

“Better, in some ways.  I don’t have to wait for an orbit to bring it around to where I want it.  It’s more like a whole spy satellite network.”

She repeated her first comment with a voice of wonder.

“I do that anyway,” I pointed out.  She punched me in the shoulder.

“So, you can see anything you care to look at?”

“Not anything, and there are some other limitations,” I told her.  “It doesn’t take pictures or record anything, and it can only look at one thing at a time.  I can’t constantly watch two different cities or even two different people.  I can only watch one thing, and then only when I have time to actually, actively watch them.”

“But you’re working on it, right?”

“See next year’s model.”

“You can look at the whole world?  You could turn this into a map of the planet and freeze it, couldn’t you?”

“I could, yes.  I wouldn’t be able to use it for anything else, though, for as long as I wanted a map of the world.  And the resolution would be fairly low.  The sand is a fine, powdery stuff, but it’s still sand.  The image would be… grainy.”

Mary punched me again.  I regenerated.

“I’d like to see the world,” she told me.

“Sure.”

I pulled the viewpoint up, zooming out.  The city shrank rapidly.  The Eastrange came into view and shrank with it.  Then the plains, Mochara and the southern waters, the snowline to the north, Rethven beyond the Eastrange… the canals vanished, too small to see.  The western shores, the western ocean… the eastern hills beyond the plains and their cities… the coast curved southward as it extended eastward… higher still, widening the view…

The sand fell flat, smoothing instantly into the ready state.

Frowning, I examined the workings of the table.  It was in working order, but something interfered with the array of scrying sensors.  I fired it up again and sent them up again, this time more slowly.  The upper four sensors cut off a moment before the rest of them did, and at about the same level as before.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Mary asked.

“No.  At least, I don’t think so.”

I switched from the sand table to the scrying mirror.  With some care, I probed the area where I lost sand table function, checking for anything unusual—monsters, magicians, or magic.  Seeing nothing, I sent the sensor up higher, carefully, watching as I went.

We came to the barrier around the world.  It was, as I suspected from our encounters at the Edge, a sky-blue color.  I wondered if there was any air at that height.  On Earth, the atmosphere officially ends at a hundred miles.  Judging by the view below, the height of the firmament was much greater—five hundred miles?  A thousand?

There could be air at such a height.  It would require re-thinking what I knew of gravity, but maybe my lack of facility with flying spells stemmed from my misconceptions about gravity in the first place.  Certainly, it was something to consider.

Nothing interfered with my scrying sensor reaching such a height.  When I tried to move it higher, through the barrier, it simply quit, as though dispelled or absorbed.

Well, at least the sand table mystery was solved.  I explained it to Mary.

“Why can’t you scry beyond the barrier?”

“Offhandedly, I don’t know.  I would guess because anything you see beyond the barrier might also be able to see you.  Since I don’t know all the powers and abilities of the Things, it might prove extremely dangerous.  I recall a lady wizard who did something like it, though, and had a broken effect as part of her eye.  I think we can scry beyond the barrier if we open a scrying window out there, but we can’t move an established sensor through it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.  So, is this thing how you’ll find Tort?”

“Nope.”

“No?  What do you mean?  I thought the whole point of all this work was to find her?”

“It is, but this is only part of it. I can’t find her with a regular seeking spell; she’s shielded in some way.  This won’t seek out a target.  It’s a—it’s a flying camera, not a radar system.  I have to know where to look before I can see anything with it.”

“So, what good is it?”

“This is merely the centerpiece of a more elaborate plan.”  I laughed my best Mad Scientist Laugh.

Mary rolled her eyes.  I chuckled.

“It’s not that bad,” I told her.  “I need a few peripheral spells for it.  Powerful and moderately complicated, but not massive enchantments like this.  Those should go much more quickly.”

“Well, that’s a comfort.  Does this mean I can persuade you to come into town with me for lunch?”

“Probably.  Why?”

“Because I want to go out on the town with you.  See a show.  Have dinner.  That sort of thing.  You know, like couples do?”

“I can do that,” I agreed.  “I’d like to get a feel for how dangerous it is in the city for me, anyway.  I get different impressions from different people, so I ought to see for myself.”

“Perfectly reasonable”

“Right after the paternity test results.”

She paused, cocked her head to one side, and regarded me.

“Paternity test?”

Sunday, February 1
st

After I walked Mary through the paternity test spells, she favored me with a pitying expression.

“So, what, exactly, do you plan to do—Dad?”

“Tell him the truth.”

“And then what?  Take him in?  Be a father?  Care for him for the next… ten years?  Twelve?  See him educated and find him a good job?  Argue about what career he should follow?  Disapprove of his girlfriends?  Or arrange a marriage?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll have to discuss it with him.  Probably his mother, too.  She should have some say in the matter.”

“I’m not sure
you
should.  You’re not really a daddy, now are you?”

“You talk as though it’s a bad thing, trying to be a father.”

“Normally, I think fathers are fine things,” she admitted.  “Mine was.  On the other hand, you didn’t sire this kid.  You didn’t have anything to do with making him or raising him.”

“He’s a child of my body.”

“He’s a product of someone else’s artificial insemination using you as a sperm donor!”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.  Doesn’t change the fact he’s mine.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”  She threw up her hands and walked away.  I stared after her.  What was the issue, here?  Why was she so upset at the idea I was a father?  Were kids boring?  Or was she upset it wasn’t a child with her?  Or something else?

I saw the psychic pulse when Heydyl came through the lower door.  Since the spells recognized him, the room didn’t get all shadowy, cold, and hostile.  He came right through and I met him in the hallway.

“Good morning.”

“Am I your son?” he asked, without preamble.

“Good morning,” I repeated.  He swallowed and nodded.

“Good morning.”

“You look exhausted.  Did you sleep?”

“Not really.”

“You also look out of breath.  I’ll guess you got up early, skipped breakfast, and ran the whole way.  Am I right?”

“… yes.”

“Then you need to eat.  Come with me, please.  Haven’t had breakfast yet, myself.”

We moseyed up to a kitchen and I set about frying things.  I’m a firm believer in frying as a cooking method, especially for breakfast—ham, bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, all that.  Technically, even pancakes are fried. If fried foods are going to kill me, at least it’ll be a delicious death.

I eat souls and drink blood.  This is what I choose to have for breakfast.  Don’t judge me.

With food in front of him, Heydyl ate with good appetite.  He wasn’t entirely familiar with the fork, but he saw me using it and did his best.  Forks are fancy; most people get by with a knife and fingers.  When we finished, I whisked the plates clean with a spell and put them away again.

“Now, Heydyl, you wanted to know if you’re my son.  The answer is yes, you are.”  He made a fist-pumping gesture of victory.  I smiled at his enthusiasm and hoped it wasn’t misplaced.  “So, tell me what it is you want of me.  Do you want a father?  Or just to know you are my son?  Or do you want me to take care of you and your mother until you come of age?  Or do you want me to see you become a knight and a nobleman?  Or what?  Name it, if you can.  I’m listening.”

Heydyl was silent for a while, looking at me and thinking.  I tried to keep a small, encouraging smile on my face while I waited, all attentive.  I’m pretty sure he hadn’t actually thought beyond the idea of actually
having
a father.  If he wanted one, I could certainly try my best, but my track record with children is awful.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, finally.  “I… just… wanted to know.”

“All right.  Now you do.  What else you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps your mother—who is she, by the way?”

“Lynae.  She’s a dressmaker.”

“Lin-NAE,” I repeated, exaggerating the word.  “Good to know.  Do you think she would ask anything of me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should I ask her?  Or would you do it for me?”

“I’ll do it!” he agreed.

“By all means.  Go right ahead.  If I’m out when you return, you may either wait for me or leave a note in—do you know your letters?”

“Everyone in Karvalen knows their letters,” Heydyl sniffed.

Score one for me and my educational policies as King.

“Good.  Come with me.”  We left the kitchen and went to the great hall.  “I’ll put a table up in here with some writing materials.  You can leave me a note if I happen to be out.”

“Don’t you have some sort of magic I can use?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

“Writing is magic.  It only seems mundane because it is so common, and because most people fail to do it well.”

“Yes, Father,” he replied, dutifully.

“Now run along home and talk to your mother.”

“Yes, Father,” he repeated.  He hurried off to the lower door. I told the mountain what I needed in the great hall and went looking for something to write with.

Once I had a place for messages, I pulled out the mirror Beltar gave me.  It wouldn’t work inside the scryshield—at least, not as it was.  A little spell-work to add some temporary encryption protocols so it could synch with the scryshield and…

“Seldar.  Seldar.  Seldar.”

The mirror rippled, swam, and cleared.

The Kingsway alarm went off.  It was someone I didn’t recognize, dressed in scale-and-plate and wearing two swords, with a shield slung on his back.  The tabard bore a device: green on the right, gold on the left, divided vertically by a black bar with a white circle in the middle.

Seldar appeared in the mirror.  The background was a temple of some sort.  Seldar himself was… Okay, yes, he was older.  I’m really not dealing well with that.  He also seemed large, but that was to be expected, as well.  All my original knights were subjected to growth spells, encouraging size, strength, speed, stamina—all the physical attributes a warrior would need.  Seldar was one of the few who could actually cast the spell combinations, and one of the first to get them.

“Sire,” he acknowledged, and bowed.  His voice was deeper than before, too.  Well, he was an adolescent when I met him.

“Someone’s at my door,” I told him.  “I’m sorry; I meant to have a conversation with you.  Can I call you back?”

“I am at your disposal.”

I hung up on him, put the mirror away, and headed to the front door.  It was still closed when I arrived.  A quick look through the peephole mirror showed me the same man, alone, with his hand in the hole.  It seemed he could follow instructions.  Fair enough.  I pushed on the opposite side of the door and it swung open.  I stepped forward with my half, wondering what he would do.

“Hello?” he called.  He took a step forward.  “Hello?”

“I’m right here,” I said, coming around the door behind him.  He jumped.  “Be careful; an open door is not an invitation.”

“I have been sent—”

“Obviously.  I’m going to guess you’re a knight in service to the Baron of the Eastern Marches and he’s sent you to deliver a message of some sort.  Very well.  Enter freely and of your own will, but be aware you already entered my personal domain.”

While I spoke, I sized him up.  Tall-ish, about five-eleven, with a lean build.  Black hair, black eyes, a solid tan, one missing tooth slightly to the left of center, callused hands.  He moved easily, obviously used to heavy steel armor and associated gear.  His accent seemed familiar.  I couldn’t quite place it.

I turned my back on him and marched the length of the great hall while he stood there.  I seated myself on the dragon’s-head throne and pretended to relax.

“Well?” I asked.

He’s scared, Boss.

He should be.  I didn’t say the baron could send another messenger.  I said he could come visit.  Although,
I added,
I suppose I shouldn’t hold this guy responsible.  I doubt he had much choice in the matter.

He entered.  I wasn’t surprised; bravery is a prerequisite to becoming a knight.  He kept his spine straight and his footsteps regular as he approached.  He bowed at the foot of the dais, directly in front of the dragon’s head.

“Majesty,” he said.  “I have come from the Baron Gosford, Lord of the Fortress of the East, Warden of the Eastern Marches.”

“Go on.”

“He bids me say to you he is unable to come to you and he wishes to hold private converse.”

“You look familiar,” I told him.  “Who are you?”

“I am Sir Dantos of the plains, Your Majesty.”

“Ah.  You’re from one of the plains tribes?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“It must be an interesting story how you came to be a knight in the baron’s service.”

“Perhaps it is, Your Majesty.”

“Do they still talk about me, out on the plains?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.  Odd, considering the temperature.

“Are you afraid, Sir Dantos of the plains?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  Not an instant of hesitation.  I liked that.

“Then you should be made welcome.”  I sprang off the throne and down the steps of the dais.  “Come along.  And stop being formal.  My house; my rules.  You may address me as ‘Halar,’ at least until I tell you otherwise.”

I led him into the kitchen, my preferred audience chamber.  I think it has a warm, personal feel to it.  It’s hard to hold to court manners in a kitchen, and court manners make me uncomfortable.  With a sandwich in one hand a mug of tea in the other, he seemed less fearful and more nonplussed.  I urged him to try something from the fruit bowl.

“Now,” I began, propping my feet up on another stool and leaning against the wall, “what’s the baron really want?  And please don’t go my-lording me.  Go ahead and explain, in your own words.  Whatever it is, you’ll be fine.”

Mary came in, looking grumpy.  She paused in the door and Dantos paused when he saw her.

I invited her in, made introductions.  Dantos rose to bow.  Mary nodded and sat down when he did.  Apparently, whatever she wanted would wait—probably our date, assuming she was done being upset with me about the whole fatherhood thing.  I really do need to do something nice for her; I may not understand why she’s upset, but the fact she is upset is all that really matters.

“My… Halar, I mean,” Dantos began.  “The baron has not made me privy to his desires, but if you wish me to guess?”

“By all means.”

“There are many rumors about you.  Do you know of them?”

“I know some of them.  Does anyone ever know all the rumors?”

“Fairly said.  There are many, for you.  Some say you have become a god; others say you were a demon and were banished.  You came to this world through the Gate of Shadow for vengeance on the Hand.  You completed your vengeance, stayed awhile, and departed for your homeland.  You have abdicated; you have turned over your crown to the Queen; you have begun seeking among your children for a worthy heir.  You plan a war with the
viksagi
, or the frost giants, or the ice giants.  You plan to war with the Witches of Kamshasa.  You plan to spread your kingdom over the people of the plains and the cities beyond.  You plan to conquer to Mountains of the Sun.  You are secretly Rendu, of the Heru, creator of the world, a god of the elves.  You conspire with the Father of Darkness to—”

“That’s enough,” I cut him off.  “There are more rumors than sense in the kingdom.  Basically, nobody knows anything and they’re telling lies to sound smarter.  Fine.  How does this affect the baron and I?”

“I believe the baron wishes to declare himself King of the East, using the Teeth of the World’s Edge as a barrier between himself and the Queen of Karvalen.”

“It’s going to be confusing if this is Karvalen, the city, and that’s Karvalen, the kingdom,” I noted.  Dantos shrugged.

“That will be his problem.”

“And he wants me to… what?  Approve?  Give him permission?”

“I think he wants you to come down and be proven an impostor.  Your arrival here, now, makes it difficult to consider a declaration such as that.  Only a fool would take such a risk.”

“When the Demon King shows up on the night before you planned to declare war on him, it’s got to be nerve-wracking,” I admitted.

“Exactly.  He would like to disprove you.  Failing that, I do not know if he would try to kill you.”

“You don’t seem to have any trouble believing who I am,” I noted.  “Why is that?”

Dantos got up from his stool and slowly knelt, bending forward and placing his forehead on the floor.  He shifted into a language of the plains tribes.  I didn’t need a translation spell for it; I recognized the phrasing and Firebrand supplied me with particulars.

“Bless us in the shadows, Lord of Night, and be kind until the dawn.”

Dantos rose and resumed his seat.  Apparently, he thought that was an answer to my question.

Well, crap.

“I have a question,” Mary piped up.  Dantos and I both turned to her.  I nodded encouragingly.  “Dantos—I said that right?  Good.  Dantos, correct me where I’m wrong, but you’re a knight sworn to the service of this Baron Goshdarn or whatever his name is, right?”