Nightlord: Shadows (108 page)

“Chalk rubs off,” Tort said. “Also, a line of paint can be painted over the same line in the opposite direction, corresponding to the way the mirrors will all work to and from each other.”

“Good thinking. I probably would have used the brute-force visualization method, myself. This is better.”

“I am pleased, my angel,” she replied, smiling.

“It’s a lot of work, though.”

“Is there a special hurry?”

“Nope. But it is a pleasant surprise to see that it’s coming along faster than I expected.”

“Good. Now, have you any other plans for tonight?”

“Plans?” I frowned. Was there anything else I needed to do tonight? Well, it would be nice to have some sort of spell prepared to give Bronze a larger magical charge if we were ever going to go through the arch again. Maybe a variation on the Ascension Sphere. Or a gemstone to act as a battery. And, of course, I needed to find some volunteers to go with me into the Warrior Crystal. Bob was in good shape, for now, so nothing there… Byrne, yes; I needed to start a sand-table scrying of Byrne and see if—

Tort took my arm and moved up close to me while I was thinking. Very close.

“Come to think of it,” I said, “no, I don’t actually have any plans.”

“Good,” she purred.

Several hours later, with Tort snuggled comfortably at my side, I realized I didn’t have anything more pressing to do. There were lots of things that needed doing, but so what? This was a good place to be. And, while I don’t need to sleep—I slept for eighty-seven years; I haven’t bothered since—I am capable of sleeping. This seemed like a good time.

Of course, just as I was settling in for a nap, I heard a voice from under the bed.

“Hey.”

“Shh. One minute.”

“Okay.”

I gently disengaged from Tort, who woke up enough to kiss me before snuggling down again. I lay down on the floor and slid into the alcove under the bed. It was much larger than it should have been, but I expected that.

“Hey, Fred. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m done with your guys,” he told me. “They’ve all had a chance to get scared out of their wits. Nobody’s really been too bad, but a couple of them get all aggressive.” Fred sounded a little miffed.

“I recall you mentioning it. I’m really just looking for people who can’t control their fear.”

“They can do that,” he assured me. “I got a corner of the blanket and started chewing it, gradually pulling it under. They don’t see me, ’cause they’re too old to believe in me. But the blanket doesn’t care. They get really worried when they yank the thing up and see it chewed on,” he finished, chuckling. I chuckled with him.

“I imagine so. Anyone actually dive under the bed to find out what was going on?”

“Not without a light. They can’t get in when they look. A couple did try reaching over the edge and waving a sword without looking,” Fred said. I wondered which ones were sleeping with their swords.

“I bet that didn’t go well. Did you take any of them?”

I heard Firebrand’s psychic chuckle.

“Yeah,” Fred admitted. “I gave ’em back, though. I pretended to spit them out.”

“Good thinking. By the way, I’d like you to meet Firebrand, my sword.”

Fred eyed Firebrand.

“Um. I see you have a new one…”

“Firebrand, say hello to Fred.”

Hello
.

Fred’s eyes widened. All of them. Well, all the ones that had eyelids.

“Hi.”

So, you’re the monster under the bed?

“Yup. And you are…?”

I’m the monster living in a sword.

“Lot of monsters, these days,” Fred observed.

I’ve noticed.

“So, uh…” he trailed off.

“I just thought I should introduce you,” I said. “If Firebrand ever finds itself under a bed, it’ll have someone to talk to.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fair, I guess.”

Is that why you wanted me to meet Fred?

Hush. It’s polite to introduce people.

Am I people?

Do you think you’re not?

Good point.

“Someday,” I said, aloud, “I’m going to try and figure out why I can see you and nobody else can.”

“I thought it was because you’re a monster,” Fred said.

“That may be it. But I’d like to know more about it. I’m weird that way.”

“Eh. I guess everybody needs a hobby.”

“Really? Do you have a hobby?” I asked, interested. What does a monster under the bed do with his free time?

“Sure. I collect stuff from under beds.”

That explained so much.

“I see. Shoes? Toys?”

“All sorts of stuff. I’ve got shoes, yeah, and toys. Some books, a lot of rope, boxes of all sorts, some shoes, jewelry, combs, coins—”

“Hey, that reminds me. We’re minting coins, but we don’t have anything good to stamp on them. Could you let me look at your collection? I’d like to find something good that I can just copy.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I get ’em all back, right?”

“Of course! I can even throw in one of every denomination we wind up pounding out.”

“Oh, that would be good. Sure. Wait here; I’ll go get it.”

And I was lying in an alcove under the bed.

If he had invited me along, could I have gone with him? Where would we have gone? Someplace outside all time and space, or just somewhere under an enormous bed? A warehouse full of beds, all jammed up, side by side?

Come to that, what about bunk beds? Could Fred show up on the lower bunk to scare someone in the upper? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Tort looked over the side of the bed.

“My angel?”

“Yes?”

“Is something the matter?”

“Not at all. Just talking to Fred.”

She frowned.

“You have mentioned someone by that name,” she said, “but I have not met him.”

“Well, not recently, no. He’s the monster under the bed. Not like me; I just happen to be under this one. He’s the one that children always talk about.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.”

“Take my word for it.”

“Very well.”

I waited a bit, hands folded on my stomach as I lay there. Tort just looked at me with a moderately bemused expression.

“Could you not look?” I asked. “I don’t think he can show up if you’re watching.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, and moved out of sight.

Suddenly, the niche was much larger and there was a multi-armed monster.

“Got a grownup in the room?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s okay, though. She’s not watching, now.”

“Got those coins you wanted. Here.” Fred thumped down a chest; it clinked meaningfully. I hefted it, pushed it out into the room proper.

“Thanks, Fred. I appreciate this. We’ll go through the coins as quick as we can. When we’ve looked at them all, should I just put the chest back under the bed?”

“That’ll do fine,” he agreed. “Um. I dunno how you feel about it, but someone is scared.”

“Ah. Okay. Would you like to meet her?”

“Meet her?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not sure that’s going to work.”

“I’ve got an idea.”

“Well… okay.”

“Wait here.”

I slid out into the room, shoved the chest out of the way, and stood up by the bed.

“Hey, Tort?” I asked. She looked at me with an expression of, if not fright, at least deep worry.

“My angel… I could hear you speaking with someone, but…”

“Yeah, I call him ‘Fred’. He’s a pretty decent guy, all things considered. I’d like you to meet him.”

“You say he is a monster under the bed?”

“
The
monster under the bed, as far as we can tell. Here, throw on some clothes,” I said, handing them to her. “He doesn’t get to meet many people socially.”

Tort wriggled into lounging pants and a tunic, then stood up next to the bed.

“Now,” I said, “close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“You’re too old to see him, I think. I’m hoping that if you can’t see him, you won’t make him disappear.”

Tort closed her eyes. I helped her to sit down, then lie down. I lay down with her and slid us both sideways under the bed. It was very spacious.

“Fred, this is Tort. Tort, this is Fred, the monster under the bed.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Fred said, and held out a relatively human-like hand. I guided her to shake hands and she shivered at the touch.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she offered. I didn’t believe her. I’m pretty sure Fred didn’t, either. He was good about it, though.

“Wow,” he observed. “You’re terrified.”

“Yes,” she admitted. Fred let go of her hand.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t like that,” Fred continued. “Nice to have met you, and thank you for being scared, but maybe you better go.”

Tort needed no encouraging; she scrambled sideways, stood up, and hopped back into bed.

“Sorry about that,” I told Fred. “I didn’t know how frightening you were.”

“It’s what I do,” Fred said, shrugging. “I’m just glad you’re not getting all fussy about it.”

“It was my idea; my fault.”

“You’re awfully understanding, for a monster.”

“I get that a lot. Well, thanks for the loan of the coins.”

“No problem. Anyone else you want scared?”

If inspiration was a lightning bolt, I’d have been electrocuted.

“Actually, do you think you could find someone for me?”

“That depends. I don’t really find people, as such. I just find beds.”

“I’m not sure if they’re in beds or not,” I admitted. “I’m looking for some girls, the daughters of a prince, probably kept as prisoners somewhere in Byrne.”

“I could check the beds,” Fred offered. “If they aren’t in one, though, I’m not going to find them.”

“Fair enough. If they aren’t in a bed, then they’re probably in a cell. That would tell me something, anyway. But if they are in a bed… I see you can bring things with you. Could you bring a person?”

“I don’t see why not. Children generally don’t get under the bed with the monster, though.”

“I can’t imagine why not,” I said. “But could you take me with you to
them
?”

“Huh. I guess. Yes, I’m sure I could. If I can find them, anyway.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Okay. I’ll ask around and see if anybody admits to being a princess.”

“Thanks, Fred.”

“Pleasant dreams.”

I climbed up into the bed again and found Tort wide-eyed.

“Something the matter?” I asked. She
whump
ed into me and held me like I was in danger of blowing away.

“I’m guessing that’s a ‘yes,’” I said, putting my arms around her. She was shivering, possibly trembling. I’ve never been too clear on the difference. We stayed like that for a while. In fact, we stayed like that not only until she fell asleep in my arms, but until she woke up in the morning.

It seemed to reassure her that I never let her go.

To some degree or another, each of the princes of Tolcaren, Maran, and Formia was open to the idea of not having hostilities. They didn’t like the ultimatum their retreating troops conveyed, but I promised not to follow through with it now that I understood the situation. Being caught between Byrne and Karvalen wasn’t a good thing for them; whichever side they went for, the other would do terrible things.

Oh, yes; Byrne had gone to some effort to get a grip on those three cities. Prince Drannis of Maran had two daughters missing, for example. Prince Palays of Formia didn’t want to talk about whatever Byrne had on him. Prince Rogis of Tolcaren simply admitted that he didn’t have enough buffer states between himself and Byrne territory to feel safe, nor sufficient defenses. Tolcaren provided transport, not armies.

If Byrne wasn’t a problem, however, they each assured me they would be more than happy to discuss the possibility of trade with a thriving kingdom beyond the Eastrange. In the meantime, however, Byrne
was
a problem, so, if Byrne said to go give me problems, they would have to weigh that very seriously.

I can’t say I was overly thrilled to be on the receiving end of all that, but I was certainly sympathetic to Drannis’ problem; his kids were at stake. It gave the other two more tolerance than they really deserved.

I’ve done a survey of the cities under Byrne’s control. It’s done a good job of conquering most of the northeastern portion of Rethven. It’s current borders are the Averill river to the north, the Quaen river to the west, the Eastrange on the east, and it holds lands as far south as Shaen—or about four days’ ride south of the former village of Delvedale, or six days’ ride north of Vathula. Well, assuming it hasn’t rained in forever and the dirt tracks they call roads are dry.

While it held those lands, it effectively threatened everybody along the eastern edge of Rethven. It could come straight south along the Caladar river to hit Verthyn, Tegron, Philemon, Wexbry, and Baret. Other cities were less worried; to go any farther west would involve crossing the Quaen river. Bildar was the only real crossing-point near Byrne’s current holdings so it was pretty nervous about the future. The other option was to go all the way south to the rivermouth and cross the bridges in the city of Formia.

I suppose one might ferry troops across at Loret, but that was inconveniently far north. Or they could ferry across at Telen, I suppose, between Bildar and Loret. Ferrying troops would take time, though. I’d like to think Byrne wouldn’t do that for fear the army would be attacked while divided.

There was also a small bridge—if you can call it that—in the very far north, in the rocky mountain-hills where the Quaen split off from the Averill and started southward. It was a rickety thing that Raeth and Bouger and I once crossed,
very
carefully, one at a time. I doubted it was still there. Although, come to think of it, there was a town not too far south of that. Clariet, I believe. It didn’t make much of an impression on me when we went through it, but I suppose they might have maintained the bridge. It still wasn’t something you marched an army across, and it certainly wasn’t wide enough for wagons. It was barely wide enough for a horse. I doubted they could roll a cannon over it.

I drew a crude map and considered. If I were in Byrne’s shoes, I’d use the Quaen as a barrier. Conquer or subjugate everything east of that river, consolidate my hold over it, declare it the new Kingdom of Rethven, and promptly take both Bildar and Formia to control the two main crossing-points of the river. That would still be a long way from taking the old capitol of Carrillon, but if Byrne could hold that large a section of old Rethven, the resources should be more than enough to creep along the coast, one city at a time, taking Maran, then Tolcaren, and finally Carrillon.

But it wasn’t up to me, and that might not be a good plan if you tried it on the ground. Still, I didn’t see any reason it wouldn’t work. I planned to run it past Kelvin, Tort, and T’yl and see what they thought.

Prince Parrin’s appeared to be strongly in favor of the iron fist approach. Between Tort’s reports and my own satellite reconnaissance, we determined that the ruling families were put to the sword or burned alive, depending on whether they surrendered their cities before or after the fighting. Much of those cities were burned, as well; a not-unsurprising result of angry men running around and trying to kill each other.

More surprising was the violence done in the little towns and villages attendant to the major cities. Those were generally not well-defended in the first place, so surrendering to a clearly superior force was the expected thing. Parrin seemed fond of the concept of decimating them; that is, killing one person in ten. As far as we could tell, it was just to make a point. Then he conscripted anyone in the slain person’s immediate family to serve in his armies—men for soldiers, women and children for support duties—as well as taking a hefty tribute to feed the war effort.

None of our scrying attempts found his “great bronze rams.” We didn’t know where to look. He hadn’t needed to use them in over a year, since this was a consolidation cycle. For all we knew, they were hidden in a cave, or in a dungeon, or just sitting in an old barn somewhere.

Tort felt certain that with a little more effort, we could at least try and track the wizards in charge of the cannon. I agreed that would give us a bit more to work with, so she started that program running.

For my part, I had Kavel work on casting a cannon of our own. Someday, we might have to face them. People should be prepared.

Who am I kidding? Of course we’d have to face them.

The good news was that I rummaged in my mental junkpile and found a thing I’d read on how cannon were made. While Kavel is working on casting a jumbo steel cylinder, we’ve already got the drillhead and rollers for the Wilkinson-style borer.

I’m cheating again; I’ve enchanted the edge of the drillhead.

I’m also wondering about how to defend someone from cannon-fire. I mean, a deflection spell
can
deflect grapeshot, or even a cannonball… but it has to be so ridiculously over-powered that I’m not sure a wizard could do it; it might take a magician.

How good is the new armor, I wonder? Will it take grapeshot? Maybe. But even if it survives a cannonball, the man inside won’t; he’ll be pudding on the inside of the armor.

Hmm. Momentum and kinetic energy, acceleration… I may have an idea.

On a lighter note, a small caravan of medieval mobile homes showed up this afternoon. Shada’s adopted
gata
—that is, Utai’s; that was her original name—rolled up the canal road and parked near the bridge. I had to go out and invite them in, which I found vastly amusing. The
vampire
had to invite the
humans
in. Color me tickled.

They rolled on in, visibly growing more impressed with almost every foot. It took a while to convince them that most of the city was empty and that they were welcome to stay anywhere they liked. Yes, it’s a city; yes, it’s mine; yes, I’ll share it with you.

The concept of actually staying somewhere permanently seemed to be a new one.

When we halted along a street of houses, their matriarch emerged from the inside of her wagon and greeted me more formally. She was a question mark, bent and wizened, dressed in a hundred colors. One eye was sharp as cut glass and the other covered in a greyish film. I couldn’t help but think she was looking at me with both eyes, maybe even seeing more with the filmed-over one. A young man helped her through the door in the back of the wagon and down the steps, cautioning her to mind her footing.

I didn’t need prompting, this time, because I was looking for any resemblance. I recognized her from our conversation so many years ago, when I made rocks talk for the amusement of children. I moved to bow over her hand.

“Welcome, young lady. It is a pleasure to see you again, Anni,” I told her. She chuckled, an old, evil sound.

“Flatterer,” she accused. “I’ve changed far more than you.”

“Ah, but surely for the better,” I said. “Welcome to Karvalen. Will you do us the honor of being the first on the Street of Seers?”

“Street of Seers?” she repeated.

“I have in mind to invite all who scry or prophesy to have their shops—if they choose to sell their services, of course—along one street, as in ancient Zirafel. I could not do so, however, until you arrived. That place of honor is yours, if you will have it.”

Anni looked at me keenly.

“Have you really waited for me to come?” she asked, “or are you just a honey-tongued demon made flesh?”

“I am sure one of your wisdom will divine that for yourself,” I countered, smiling, and winked at her. She chuckled again.

“Aye, and I will, then! But what of the rest?”

“As I’ve told this young man—your son, perhaps?”

“Great-grandson.”

“That can’t be; no one could have a great-grandson and still look as lovely,” I protested. She chuckled yet again, and I continued with, “But as I’ve told him already, the majority of the city is empty—truly empty. Pick a street; pick a house. I own the whole thing; it’s mine. I welcome you to live in it, however, for as long as you choose to stay.”

She held out her hand to me; I held out mine. She took it, loosely, and closed her eyes. I recognized magic, but it was something too quick to analyze. When she opened her eyes, one filmed over, the other clear and sharp, she was looking past me, past everything, possibly past the world.

“You’re a good one, that you are,” she said, softly; I found that slightly confusing. “You’re kind, more than most men, and more than most will ever know.” Her eyes widened, still with that distant gaze. “Kindness, and a hidden heart of deepest black. Who will tip kindness into the pit? I cannot see.”

We stood there for maybe half a minute, then she let go of my hand and her gaze returned to things closer than the horizon.

“Well,” she said, more loudly, “your kind have loved us, and we’ve done for you what we might. Where else would we go? We accept, and, so long as you live here, we’ll bide with you.”

I bowed to her, and she bowed to me; a curtsey was a bit beyond her, I suspect. Someone started playing a reed pipe and other instruments joined it. Anni climbed aboard her wagon again, with a little help from me and her great-grandson, and they rolled on, searching for a street they liked.

Oddly, no one in Karvalen had anything to say about them. Or, come to think of it, maybe not so odd. No one in Mochara would have ever met anyone in a
gata
, after all; they might not even have heard of them. It was kind of a good thing that the
gata
didn’t have to overcome a reputation. And, of course, being able to claim a personal friendship—or maybe just alliance—with the King didn’t hurt them in the realm of public opinion, either.

We finished the hand mirrors, all one hundred of them, in a single night. The wizards who had drawn all the lines had taken a while to do it, but it was well-done. I made sure to etch a number on the inside of each case; that would be important, later. Then, with the symbolic connections drawn between all the mirrors, it was just a matter of laying the linked scrying and speaking spells on them, wrapping them up into one great enchantment, and investing it into the polished steel.

It sounds simple. It wasn’t. But it was possible, thanks to lengthy and detailed efforts by Loret and Reena. And I did thank them, personally, and offered to do something for them in return. They both declined, however, claiming that it was enough for them to have done a service for the King.

I suspect they think I’ll remember them. They’re right.

Now each of my knights and my council has a personal communicator. For most people, they take a little effort to use; trained magical types like Thomen or Tort can do it almost without thinking about it. But now, if someone needs to reach me—or anyone else, or everyone else—all they need to do it take out their magical mobile phone and concentrate on the number. Or on all the numbers. Or on each other’s numbers.

We’ll see if I find it more useful than annoying. Here’s hoping I’ve given these things to people with the judgment to avoid using them.

When I gave one to Seldar, he took the opportunity to ask me about getting paid.

“Paid?” I asked. “Of course you get paid. Has no one given you money?”

“No, Lord of Forgetful Finances. But, to be fair, I have not asked until now.”

“We’ll fix that,” I promised. “Anything in particular you need the money for?”

“Ah.” His tone and manner changed markedly. He seemed much more diffident, bordering on hesitant. “I was… that is, I hope to offer a bride-price,” he admitted.

“Really! Good for you.”

“You do not object?” he asked.

“Should I?”

“I do not know,” he admitted. “I was not certain if you would allow members of your personal guard to marry. It could be a division of loyalties.”

“Oh, that. By all means, marry; how else are you going to raise children who can be in my personal guard?”

“Thank you, my Generous King.”

“Not a problem. Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Carella, if her father will agree.”

“That’s the blonde who sits next to you at dinner?”

“Yes, Sire,” he replied, blushing. He didn’t think I noticed. He might even think he was being subtle about his affections for Carella. I’m pretty sure everyone knew. He’s a sharp guy, but he’s not always the most perceptive person.

“If you like her that much, go ahead. See what sort of bride-price her father wants. But don’t let him hold you over a barrel; offer him something fair,” I advised. “If he’s stubborn, don’t agree to anything; let me know.”

“I will, Sire.”

Poor Seldar. It looks like he’s going to get married. Well, maybe that won’t be a bad thing.

Hmm. I better brush up on marriage services and the like. I bet they’ll want me to officiate or something.