Nightlord: Shadows (104 page)

She screamed. It was a sound like nothing else I’d heard from her. It rang through the air and echoed from the mountainsides. It grabbed the nerves like fingernails on a blackboard and scraped them, stretched them. It went on and on and on, rising higher, growing louder.

I dropped her just as she burst into flame: Violet, indigo, black, crackling and sizzling, crawling over her body, her face, even on the scattered, severed limbs. Demonic fire, burning like the blackest soul set aflame. I remembered it from Zirafel; a soulless corpse, animated by some terrible Thing from beyond the world, burned like this. Skin flaked away, turned to ashes, vanished. Layer by layer, she disappeared, eaten away by dark fires. Even with her ribs burning away, her lungs disappearing into ashes and nothingness, that scream went on, longer and longer, lasting the rest of her life.

And then there was silence.

Is that how vampires die?
I wondered.
The soulless ones who have died during the day, losing all semblance of mortality… is that what happens? Will that happen to me, someday?

I didn’t think that was typical, but nothing in my digested memories leaped out to answer my question. Maybe when I got back to the mountain I could have someone see what sunrise did to some of my vampire experiments.

Wait a minute. “He was right,” she said. He said I was a fool… who was “he”?

I stood there and looked at the blackened, melted places where her flesh had touched while it burned, thinking about the glassy outline of Sasha’s death and wondering what Keria meant.

The courtyard was empty. Strangely, no one cared to witness the duel between their dark and terrible gods. I can’t imagine why.

With measured tread, I made my way through the palace to the throne room. There were a number of creatures in there, mostly
orku
and humans, with a smattering of
galgar
and one rather well-dressed ogre—that is, dressed in clothes and pieces of armor, rather than hides. No elves.

Everyone knelt and placed their foreheads on the floor. I thought that a very good idea.

“Bring me my sword,” I said, softly, and it carried to all the corners of the room. Yeah, I was in that sort of mood.

At least a dozen people leaped up and ran out of the room. I let them go.

“It is my understanding that the usurper, Keria, had a magician or two in her service,” I said, and nudged the nearest subject with a toe. “Well?”

“Yes, Dread Lord! Three, Dread Lord!”

“Fetch them.”

“Dread Lord! Two are slain; only one remains.”

“Then you will be even quicker about it,” I suggested.

Fading impression of someone sprinting out the door.

I moved to the throne, noted that there was no magic on it, and slouched into it. I didn’t bother to tell anyone to get up. They shuffled about a bit, though, changing direction so they were kneeling at me the whole time. I was vaguely tempted to pace around the room, just to watch them try and keep oriented.

Six people came in, carrying what reminded me of a coffin. A ceramic coffin. They set it down at the foot of the stairs that led up to the throne, then backed away and resumed kneeling positions.

There was a lot of magic on that case, most of it designed to prevent fires; a couple of spells blocked most forms of magical communication or sensing. I tromped down to it and flipped the lid open. It came off like the lid of a sarcophagus and crashed to the floor, shattering.

Boss!

“Hello, Firebrand.”

You have
no
idea
how glad I am to see you! Is the crazy bitch dead?

“Yes, Keria is dead.”

I’m almost as glad to hear that as I am to see you.

“I’d imagine. I don’t suppose they saved your sheath?”

Doubt it.

“We’ll get you another,” I told it, lifting it out of the case. “I know people.” Firebrand ignited, at least four feet of flames rippling along the metal like the Damascus striations in the blade. It felt good to have a big, heavy blade in hand again. The dragons-head pommel seemed to grin at me in delight.

I don’t suppose we can find something flammable, maybe?

“Soon,” I promised. “For now, I just want to know who Keria had as her chief lieutenants. Do you know?”

Yeah, I’ve met people. You want the magicians or the lieutenants?

“I’ll settle for the lieutenants for now
.
”

Two of them are right here; the other two are probably out minding the wall or running the place.

I kicked the ceramic case, twice, breaking the rest of it into pieces, then returned to the throne.

“Bring me the ones who served Keria as her chief lieutenants,” I ordered. A few people ran from the hall, two others rose, advanced, and laid their foreheads on the bottom step. I ignored them, waiting on the results of the ones who ran. Sure enough, two more guys came in before long, hurried to my end of the room, and laid their foreheads on the bottom step.

“Is this everyone?” I asked. There was the general murmur of agreement with the dread lord. “Everyone else, get out.”

They did. They didn’t quite have a traffic jam, but they also didn’t care what door got them out. In seconds, the room was clear, except for four sweating guys—three
orku
and a human.

“Tell me,” I began, “do you know who I am?”

“Yes, Dread Lord,” they chorused. Not bad, but not the smooth chorus of the twins. Not even as good as my personal guard. But not bad.

“Do you know who Bob is?”

There was a pause. One of them asked if I meant the elf.

“Yes, that’s him. The one who used to rule here as my viceroy. That one.”

“Yes, Dread Lord.”

“Good. Now, when I send him back here to rule as my viceroy, what will you do?”

“Obey him in all things, Dread Lord.”

“Also good. Now, find out what’s keeping that magician I summoned. Go.”

They went, and I sat there, alone, on the throne of Vathula, thinking.

“He was right,” she said. He said I was a fool. Who said that? And a fool in what way?

I hoped worrying about it wouldn’t keep me up nights.

On the other hand, maybe he was right. People have been trying to kill me, off and on, since I woke up. And I’ve been sitting in Karvalen, building up a kingdom, rather than hunting down the threat and destroying it. Could be that I am a fool.

Maybe, Boss,
Firebrand said
, but anybody after you has to be more of a fool than you.

“Thanks, Firebrand. But now… now I think I need to look into this. I have so much that I want to do, to accomplish—I don’t want to be involved in a whole new jihad against nightlords. I just want to build things and be left alone.”

And,
I thought,
strangely, I don’t really feel the urge to go home anymore. Then again, considering what’s happened at home… I’d like to know more details, but…

“Some idiot is being a jerk and dragging me into a fight, I think.”

His problem. Not for long, I’d guess.

“Hopefully.”

I continued to think about things. The demon said something about his master, a shadow that stood behind his master, and how Keria was a pawn of… well, one or the other or both. Assuming, of course, that it was telling something at least close to the truth. It might have; it was holding out bait to preserve its life. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t listen to a word. Under those circumstances, however, the generalizations might be true; the demon was in the details, of course.

The human lieutenant came in, prostrated himself in the middle of the room, and waited.

“Speak!”

“Dread Lord, the magician is gone. No one saw him leave. He must have departed through some spell.”

“Where are the other three lieutenants?”

“Spreading word of your victory and instructing your subjects to obey your servant, Bob.”

“Bring them here. Now.”

“At once, Dread Lord!”

I heard horns. Very quickly, all four of them were in front of me again. I stepped down, picked up one of the
orku
, broke him over my knee, physically ripped him in half with my bare hands, then crushed his head like popping a balloon.

It felt good. I hate that it did, but it did. Blood pumped from the crushed remains, streaming over to me, crawling up over my feet. That felt good, too.

Actually being a Dread Lord is sometimes much too tempting.

“Now,” I said, pleasantly, “let there be no confusion. I did not order you to spread any word; I ordered you to bring me a magician. Initiative in carrying out my orders is a fine thing, good and right and proper. Inventing your own is not. Do not think you can anticipate what I want done; that is for Bob and Bob alone. Are we clear?”

There was a lot of agreement.

“Now, show me to the magician’s laboratory.”

We went down into the dungeons. I can’t call it a basement; a basement can be a pleasant place. This was a storage facility for people no one cared much about, and with a short shelf life.

The magician certainly left in a hurry. One wall had the remains of a circular gate diagram, a one-shot spell, presumably for diving through. Another sign of a hurried departure was the way he left everything behind. There were a number of magical objects still lying about, most of which had to do with summoning and controlling various Things from Beyond. I especially disliked the summoning circle, seeing as it surrounded a sacrificial altar. There were chains, manacles, and suspicious-looking stains. The smell reminded me of burnt onions, burnt flesh, and old blood.

I examined the remains of the gate spell. It was mostly burned away, obliterating any destination information. Reluctantly, I concluded that he made good his escape. Pity, that. I wanted to ask him some questions.

Before leaving the dungeons, I checked to see if any of the occupants were still alive. I unbolted a door and looked in; the human male on the floor looked up at me. He wasn’t too emaciated, but he looked ill and badly beaten.

“Why are you in here?” I asked.

“I’m a captive,” he muttered, hoarsely.

He didn’t sound like he was being a smartass. I guess he wasn’t in the best of shape.

“I know you’re a captive,” I said, trying to be patient. “I know you’re a prisoner of Vathula. How were you captured, and why?”

“I survived a raid by some human mercenaries. They dragged me back here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fair answer.” I turned to my escorts, picked one. “You. Bring all the prisoners to the throne room. Let no further harm come to them. I expect them in half an hour.”

“At once, Dread Lord!” He scurried off and the rest of us went to examine the workrooms of the dead magicians. One of them was a blasted, burned ruin. A perfunctory effort had gone into removing burned furniture and such, but the charring and soot were still there. The faint smell of burned metal and burned flesh still lingered.

Steel can be a good explosive, done right. Score one for me.

The other magician’s workroom was pretty much bare. After some boring questioning, I found out his paraphernalia consisted of several chairs and some magical cords. They were very nice cords, apparently enchanted to allow other magic-workers to contribute power to someone who was casting a spell. By the looks of them, the contribution didn’t need to be voluntary, either.

The magician in question was found dead in his central chair, a little after sunset. Aside from an expression of soul-devouring horror, he didn’t have a mark on him. And, yes, his name was Hagus.

Back in the throne room, I examined the prisoners. Most of them were humans, captured in raids from surrounding lands. A few were
orku
or
galgar
that had managed to get attention in a bad way. According to my new lieutenants, they were all slated for use as sacrificial victims for demon-summoning, or as hosts for summoned entities, or just for amusements for Keria—much like mice can be amusements for cats, I gathered. Entertainment and then food. Dinner and a show.

“Do we still have the mercenaries that captured them?”

We did. The mercenary captain reported to the throne room and I gave orders to have the human prisoners transported to Karvalen. He looked as though he wanted to ask questions, but he took his cue from the way everyone else was behaving. I think their abject fear was catching; he recognized that anything these people held in unanimous terror was probably something worthy of terror. He agreed in unreserved terms, bowed, and backed away.

I watched him do so. He seemed likely to do as he was told; nothing in his soul looked as though it was going to give me any trouble on this. He liked gold, he liked his work, and if he didn’t like some parts of his work, he got more gold to make up for it. Prisoner transport wasn’t entirely to his liking, but it was better than a lot of things he’d done in his career, or so he felt. He also seemed to think that being farther away from Vathula would be a very good thing.

That would do.

I spent the rest of the night sorting out what the lieutenants knew about Keria and the relationships with other realms and principalities. In short, she didn’t share much with her subordinates. She had a very authoritarian, dictatorial, even tyrannical style.

What I gathered was that she had an alliance with Prince Parrin of Byrne. There were a lot of messengers, anyway, traveling to and from Byrne, and at least three ambassador visits from there every year. Of course, the lieutenants weren’t too helpful with the frequency of magical communications, if any. Likewise, what agreements might have been made were a mystery. But they were ordered to treat any and all representatives or troops from Byrne with respect and courtesy.

Think Bob will know anything more?
I asked Firebrand.

Maybe. He wasn’t a prisoner until recently. He’ll at least have more background, Boss.