Authors: Garon Whited
He shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Even Heroes are not perfect.”
“Ha! I’m not a Hero. You made everyone
think
I’m a Hero!” I accused.
“I?” he asked, looking innocent. “How could I do such a thing?”
“You sang your songs, you made up your tales, and you spread all the rumors and the stories!”
“What stories are those, my lord?”
“About the viksagi, for one!”
“Did you defend the kingdom from their invasion?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Did you not ride out alone to meet them?”
“I had Bronze with me. My horse. And Firebrand, my sword.”
“And did you slay the dragon they had brought?”
I could feel Firebrand looking at me. Did I really kill the dragon? Or did I just… change how it lived? How dead is dead? How dead is “sort of dead”? Come to that, how much of each of those men still lives in me, in some small way?
“Hmmm. I defeated it,” I replied, carefully. Firebrand chuckled agreement in my head.
“I lied about nothing, lord. I spoke only the truth of your deeds as I knew it. The people who listened,
they
decided. I never called you a Hero, not in any song or story. It is an appellation awarded to you by all others.”
I eyed him.
“You never called me a Hero? Ever?”
“Never in song or story,” he answered. “When asked for a song of the Hero Halar, I would sing of you—but who else could they mean?”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“I am pleased to be of service.”
I shook my head, sighing. “Even if that service is to call me a moron when I do stupid things?”
“Even so, my lord.”
“All right. Let’s have a long talk about what I’ve been doing and what I want to do… and you tell me where I’ve been stupid.”
It was well after sunup before we finished. I won’t go into how I’ve been stupid; I’m sure anyone can go back and pick things out. Let’s just say I have a new appreciation for how a smart man can still be a fool, okay? I don’t care to dwell on it.
When sunrise started, Linnaeus took a great interest in watching my morning transformation. I didn’t mind letting him watch, but I did ask him to keep quiet about nightlord biology. He agreed on the basis that it’s hard to serve one’s lord if you give away dangerous secrets. People tend to call that treason and behead you for it.
I suggested we find somewhere else to stay. Linnaeus disagreed.
“If, as you suspect, Tobias immediately takes action against you, it will not be here.”
“Why not?”
“What was your first impulse upon returning?”
“To get out.”
“And you think he knows this not?”
“A point,” I conceded.
“If he is seeking you—and he surely is, yes—then he is looking everywhere
else
.”
“All right.”
“Now, what is it you wish to do, my lord?”
“To be honest, I don’t really know. I want to kill Tobias. But I
can’t
.”
He looked perplexed. “Why not?”
So I had to try and explain that. I don’t think I did very well. I tried to tell him that cold-blooded murder is different from consuming a nearby person while I’m in the grip of a hunger. Or even carving someone apart when they try to knife me. It’s an emotional thing. I have to be emotionally involved when I kill someone. Intensely so.
“It guess… I guess I just don’t want to walk up to him and stick a knife in him. It’s too cold, too quick and simple.”
“You wish to feel his death,” Linnaeus said. “You wish to fight him and slay him, not merely murder him as any thief on the street might.”
“Yes,” I answered, softly. “That’s it exactly.”
“That is well. It would be most upsetting to find that you possess the cold, calculating intellect that can decree a man’s death without a shred of remorse or regr—”
There came a knocking at the door.
“That’s probably T’yl,” I said, quietly. “He’s a little early, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in a bit of a tizzy.”
“As you say, my lord.”
I answered the door in the usual way—Firebrand in hand. T’yl was, indeed, outside. There was no sign of the animated armor.
“T’yl,” I said, by way of greeting. “Do come in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped inside and I introduced him to Linnaeus. T’yl knew of him because of the instruments; Linnaeus knew him because… well, Linnaeus knew of him. I think Linnaeus knows everybody. Once we were seated, T’yl got right to business.
“I have heard of your debate with Tobias.”
I can blush during the day. I did.
“Yes?”
“I am uncertain if it was an act of the sheerest stupidity or brilliant audacity.”
I blinked at him for a moment. “Excuse me?”
He sighed, evidently exasperated.
“Your direct admission of your existence has caused considerable repercussions among people of all stations. The Council of the Church is in closed session to discuss, I doubt not, your personal exposé. Gevyn, the number-two man in the Hand, however, is the representative in the Council; I do not know what has become of Cardinal Tobias.”
Linnaeus leaned forward. “With your pardon, master magician, I believe he has dealt the Church a blow the like of which has not been seen in all its history.”
T’yl frowned. “How so?”
“Imagine, if you can, the look upon those faces when a
nightlord
struck the Cardinal of the Hand, itself! Worse, now see that the nightlord still stands while the Cardinal lies prostrate and at his mercy. The nightlord is unburned. The nightlord is not struck down. Moreover, the nightlord
disdains to kill,
and walks unhurried and unafraid from what should be his mortal adversary.”
T’yl’s face was a study.
“My lord has struck Cardinal Tobias,” Linnaeus went on, “but the blow has smote full on the crest of the Church. Like rotten beam struck just so, the cracking sounds begin. In time, the cracks will outrace the eye and the whole of the decaying edifice will crumble.”
T’yl nodded slowly. “No better strike could he have intended—if the truth of it can be made known,” T’yl added.
“Rumor is swifter than news, and the mouths of gossips are quicker than the pigeons,” Linnaeus said, smiling.
I held up a hand. “Hold it. If this wasn’t a boneheaded thing to do, then get busy on exploiting it. If you think you can make this work for us…?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then get out there and start stirring things our way. I won’t keep you.”
“As you say, my lord.” He rose from the table.
“Just keep me informed of… whatever I’m supposed to live up to. Okay?”
“My lord need but continue as he always has,” Linnaeus replied, bowing. “By your leave, my lord. Master magician. Good day.”
We waited until he was out of the room and the door shut once again. I’m glad I have a PR man that loves his work.
“So how does this affect us?” I asked.
“Us?” T’yl asked. “Or you?”
“Let’s worry about me later. How does this affect our working relationship?”
“Hmm. I do not see that anything material has changed.”
I leaned forward. “I think it has.”
T’yl shifted uneasily. “How do you mean?”
“
Everybody knows.
There is a nightlord in the world—one the Church hasn’t been able to kill. This puts everything into a cocked hat.”
“Beg pardon?”
Damn metaphors.
“This makes everything change,” I tried. “Look, you wouldn’t openly take sides for fear of public opinions. The nobles get bent out of shape and magicians have problems. The Church rouses the people and the magicians have problems. The magicians argue with each other and the magicians all have problems!
“Right now, you have an opportunity made of solid gold! People don’t know what to think, and the Church is cracking along its faction lines. Right now—and only now—can you make a major difference. If you, the magicians, throw your weight on my side of this, you can snap the Church and earn major kudos with the nobility and the people.”
“What of those of the people whose faith is strong?” he asked. “The pious are not few in number.”
“If their faith is strong, they’ll still find a way to talk to their god,” I answered. “That’s
my
problem, if it is one.”
“And the ritualists?”
“Are they better at their craft than master magicians?” I asked.
T’yl flushed. “You imply we are cowards,” he stated.
“I do not. I merely point out they are not so much of a problem as you might think. Besides, they have to
believe
their spells will work, not so? Fully and completely?”
“Since they do not use standard magical formulae, the power of their belief is vital to any spell,” he agreed.
“If we crack the Church like a dropped wineglass, how well will they hold their faith?”
T’yl was silent for a long minute. He settled in his chair and steepled his fingers, lost in thought. I waited. The fact he was thinking about it was a very good sign. Very good indeed.
“If I can persuade some share of us to join with you in earnest,” he asked, “what would you have us do?”
“Communications,” I replied, succinctly. “I’m sure you can cast a spell that will be sensed by any magician—or wizard!—worth the name. Give them a vision, tell them what transpires. That will create more rumors—rumors we want—than even the fertile ground of housewives at the fences.”
“That is all?” he asked, not batting an eye.
“For the most part, yes. If there turns out to be a thousand members of the Hand who want to make a war of it, a massed strike of thunderbolts might be helpful to soften them up before I go in to clean house. But until we see which way the Church is toppling, it’s hard to say where I want the cushions and where I want the spikes, if you follow me.”
“I think I do.”
“So what do you think of the idea? Can you talk the rest of the magicians into it?
Will
you, I should say.”
T’yl got up and paced.
“Understand me true,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. “We are not well-loved, for we each contain great power. Yet, for all our power, there are few of us. We seldom work together, and few enough are even willing to see the next generation of magicians grow in strength and skill. There is great distrust for the Hand among us, but we are hardly unified on this matter. None of us is so powerful as to command the rest.”
He stopped pacing and looked at me. “You are a nightlord and a wizard. If you were to become a magician, if you were to be trained, then you might dominate us all.”
“So you don’t trust me.”
“How can we?” he demanded. “You are part-man, part-demon, and your spells are as strange as your heritage!” He looked shocked at his own statement and clamped his mouth shut, lips in a white line.
“You didn’t bring your armor,” I observed, quietly.
“That is true,” he admitted, straightening from his slightly-hunched pacing. “I did not think I would have need of it.”
“You don’t. But doesn’t that tell you something?”
“That I am a fool?”
I slapped the table and made the glassware rattle. “No, dammit! Not about you! About me! I’ve recently had my whole list of deeds thrown at me by a very talented bard—hell, I’ve recently been told I’m a
Hero!
How elaborate a deception do you think one nightlord can pull off? If you think I can fake what I’ve done so it looks good enough to be Hero-worthy, then why stop there? What would I need
you
for? I’m not that blasted talented at lying to people! I’m a teacher, not a politician!”
T’yl stared at me for long moments. He nodded slightly. The gears in his head were turning.
“There comes a time,” he said, as he sat down again, “that any man worthy of the name must make a decision. To stand in the middle, to never move one way or another, is foolish at best and suicidal at worst. We can never know everything, and so we must sometimes guess at the right course of action.”
He set his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together. He met my eyes and nodded.
“I will trust you.”
FRIDAY, MARCH 17
TH
I
called Linnaeus and he made it back a little before sunset; he was in the middle of several things when I called. I sent for food and drink and made sure he and T’yl were comfortable while they had their talk. The conversation rapidly turned to a festival of name-dropping and varied opinion; my input became less and less relevant—or wanted. I suppose I shouldn’t feel bad. I know about six nobles, and four of them just stand to inherit. As for how the local grassroots movement would react to any given thing, I have about as much expertise as fish on fire.
I’m not counting the sea-people and their experiments with it.
Instead of bothering the experts, I curled up on the bed with the tome of the gateway and read for a bit.
When was the last time I sat down to read a book? I don’t remember. Back in Jon’s library, perhaps… but that was more along the lines of flipping open something to find a reference, then back to the grindstone.
This was a
book
. Not much on plot, perhaps, but an interesting read nonetheless. A lot of it was history as it applied to the doorway. Door
ways
, rather.
In the City of
Bones, there’s an ugly sort of doorway between worlds. Why it’s there, who built it, where it goes—none of that was explained. It was mentioned only because that magical doorway was the one studied to produce the less powerful one in Telen. And, apparently, the one in Arondel, in the magicians’ Academy.
These doorways are really objects, independent of any wall or structure; they can be picked up—with a few people to help—and taken anywhere convenient. They can then be powered to go from any point to any other point, opening a hole in space. From what I read, the doors were designed to access each other; targeting some place without a similar door was much more difficult, requiring perhaps ten times the power.
The theory that other worlds could be reached was mentioned, but that would be an order of magnitude worse than just opening a portal to some random spot in the same world. Instead of just ten times harder than a door-to-door opening, it would be ten times
that—
roughly a hundred times worse. Of course, to my perspective, opening a door-to-door connection would be a hundred times
easier
than the only thing I’d ever managed.
I looked up, listened to the wrangling of the Rumor & News Control duo for a moment, and decided not to interrupt. T’yl could tell me what the doors were built for later. If they were intended as a method of rapid travel, why didn’t they have one in every major city? Because they were too complicated? The one in Telen was more elaborate than the designs in the book. There was no mention of the magical keys I’d swiped, either.
I probably would have read the whole book straight through, but there was a knock at the door. By this time, I recognized the characteristic sound of the valet/bellhop/gofer. While Linnaeus and T’yl kept discussing, debating, and note-taking, I went over to it. A quick reach through the door with tendrils reassured me there was no one else there, so I opened up. The guy had a rolled note for me. I accepted it and tipped him, then shut the door. Back on the bed, I broke the wax—there was no crest—and read it.
Written in a neat, feminine hand:
I apologize on my own behalf for holding you prisoner. I should have taken your offer and freed you.
I cannot speak for the other survivors of your wrath, for even if they yet live I know not where they are. I believe them to be likewise regretful.
If you are prepared to make an equitable exchange, I am willing to discuss the trade of information for immortality.
I will be in the common room of the Seven Roses Inn at two hours past sunset. I will also be there at two hours after sunrise. I will continue this for the next two days in the hope of a meeting. You may choose the time of the meeting that best suits you, if you will meet with me at all.
It was unsigned.
I checked the window and spotted the moon. It looked like I might have time to make the early appointment.
I considered the note again. Information… in exchange for immortality. It would have to be something pretty important before I’d even consider it. But someone obviously thought it
was
important, impressively so. Or wanted to sucker me into another trap.
The more I thought about it, the more I worried it was a trap. And the more I wanted to know what it was that she—I presumed it was a “she;” only two of the ladies had tried to make a private bargain—thought was worth immortality. “An equitable exchange” implied it was worth it, or that I’d consider it to be.
I have a lot of faults. One of them is curiosity. It’s a shame I’m not part-cat; extra lives could be very, very useful.
“Hey, guys?”
Linnaeus looked up immediately; T’yl was talking quietly to someone through a crystal ball.
“Where can I find the
Inn of the Seven Roses? Or the Seven Roses Inn, if that’s different?”
“I know of only the one,” Linnaeus answered. He gave me directions to a place in middle city. “It is a very expensive place, my lord, and specializes in discretion. Has my lord made arrangements with someone?”
“In a manner of speaking. Can you two get along without me for an hour or so?”
“I believe so, my lord,” Linnaeus said.
“Good. I have a date. If you don’t see me before morning, try and find me, please.”
Linnaeus bowed in his chair. I made sure I looked presentable—mainly by setting off a rock with a disguise spell embedded in it—and sauntered out.
The directions were good; I found the place easily. It was actually a pleasant ride through the streets. I enjoyed the night air and the sights of the city. The only thing that marred the quaintly picturesque nature of the trip was the occasional gasp and murmur. The streets were less crowded at night, but the city was far from silent. People were out and about, but there weren’t throngs that needed to be shoved through. Still, nobody screamed or fainted, and comparatively few even knew who I was—probably just the gasp-and-murmur people.
I left Bronze out front and tipped the horse-boy well to leave her there. I didn’t want him to lose fingers, and I
did
want her close to the door.
The common room of the Seven Roses is hardly what one might expect of a medieval tavern, mainly because it wasn’t a tavern. It wasn’t even really an inn. I think I would describe it as more of a fancy motel for people who can’t have their affairs at home. Patrons were dressed in highly-concealing stuff, mainly fancy hats, cloaks, and the occasional mask.
As I watched a lady go upstairs with a hat-wearing gentleman, I wondered… What’s the point of wearing a mask to go meet a clandestine lover? So everybody can know you’re having an affair? Heck, why have a professional establishment for the purpose of illicit affairs? So someone can stake the place out to check up on the husband or wife?
I looked around the room. It was a very nice room. The chairs were padded, the tables small, and the outer edge of the room was lined with semi-private booths—they reminded me of office cubicles. A trio of masked musicians was playing over by a fireplace.
Upon closer observation, I realized the patrons were unmasked; the
staff
was wearing masks. A masked man with a pair of wineglasses in hand moved from the bar to a cubicle; the lady in the cubicle sat up at his entrance and I could see a smile under her veiled hat. The man was trim, handsome, and graceful. I began to suspect the Seven Roses Inn wasn’t exactly a motel, either.
A young lady, maybe seventeen or so, wearing long skirts and a mask, whisked to a stop beside me. She curtseyed deeply, eyes down, then rose to smile at me. It was a nice mask. It was a stylized, birdlike domino with a lot of feathers and fanciful hanging things, along with some sort of hair net done in the same style, like plumage. It pointed up the green in her eyes and made her smile stand out. The dress was rather unique, as well; I haven’t seen anything that low-cut since I stepped through a whirling pool of blood.
“I am Keria,” she said, dipping low in a curtsey. “Will m’lord be pleased to sit?” she asked, “or to take a room forthwith?”
I had the feeling she would come with the room. So to speak.
“I am looking for a lady,” I replied.
She bobbed a curtsey again, this time with a little shimmy to the shoulders to display her own womanly proportions. Nice.
“M’lord has found one,” she said, smiling wider and pitching her voice a little lower.
“And a very pretty one, I must admit. But I have one in particular who asked that I meet her here.”
“Oh.” I could swear that there was a little disappointment in her face. It was hard to tell with the mask in the way, and I didn’t bother to look at her heartlights. “Shall I seek her for you, m’lord?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll take a table in the middle, there, and wait for her. I kinda stand out, not wearing a hat and all.”
“Indeed,” she murmured, and took my arm to lead me to a table. Once we were seated, I smiled at her.
“Look, you don’t have to hang about with me. I really am supposed to meet someone in particular. If I were looking for other company, you would be absolutely excellent. But I’ve got a consort who is amazingly dangerous; I don’t dare cheat on her. If you’d like, you can go get another customer. I don’t want to cut into your business.”
I’m pretty sure she blushed.
“It… it is not that way, m’lord. Most of the… workers… are not paid by the person. The house charges a fee, and we are paid from that.”
In spite of myself, I was curious. I’d never been in such an upscale whorehouse before. It was a far cry from the Squire’s place at Crag Keep.
“So if a customer comes in the door, how do you decide who has to—what do you call it?”
“Escort him, m’lord. If it is a lady, the next gentleman will take her. If a man, then the next lady will approach, as I have done. See yon pair of seats at the end of the bar?” She nodded toward them. I nodded that I did. “A man and a woman, watching the door. I was in her seat, until you came in. Now I will be with you until you dismiss me for the night.”
I nodded. “Fair enough. But how do you get paid if I dismiss you? Say I sit here for six hours and do nothing but watch people come and go while making idle chit-chat?”
“Then I have had a pleasant evening with a gentleman, lovely conversation, and an easy night,” she answered, “and I am certain a gentleman would let a lady go neither hungry nor thirsty.”
I laughed quietly. “You have me there.”
She lowered her eyes to the table. “And,” she added, more quietly, “I feel certain a gentleman would at least allow me to save face by taking me upstairs, whether I were to be used for his pleasure or not.”
I smirked. “I’ll consider it. Don’t be pushy. I like you fine as you are, but I hate to be manipulated.”
“I know.”
I glanced at her sharply. She was looking squarely at me with no trace of mirth.
“Do you, perhaps, know who I’m supposed to meet?” I asked.
She nodded.
“How did you manage to time it exactly right to pair up with me?” I asked. Given the arrangements, it would be hard to do. “I have to know.” It’s the curiosity bug.
“I am a magician of some skill. None here have the strength of will or power of mind to resist the spells I have woven over them.”
“I see. All right. Can we talk here, or…?”
“Take me upstairs, please. We must speak to the man behind the bar and pay the fee, but then we will have privacy for… whatever you must do.”
“Fine.”
We rose together and she laid a hand on one of my forearm guards rather than link arms. We made our tour past the bar before heading up the stairs. The place was pricey, but I expected that. Upstairs, there were several rooms; she led me to one, unlocked it, and we both went inside.
Nice bedroom. Very nice. Three wardrobes, a big feather-bed, lots of pillows, a pair of washstands, even rugs on the floor.
“There,” she said, taking off her mask. With the plumage gone, I saw the chestnut hair. With the hair and eyes as clues, I could see she looked even younger than she had when I was trapped in a magic circle. “Now we can talk.”
“All right, talk. I know what you want. Why should I give it to you?”
“Because I can find Melloch,” she answered, settling to the bed.
Melloch. I remembered the name. He was the one who had called the Hunt, way back when. If I remembered correctly, he had sacrificed someone to call it up and send it to kill me. I don’t really know the man, but I don’t have to. He led the meddle of magicians that kidnapped me, locked me in a magic circle, hammered me flat, and stole my blood. I watched him lead them in a spell to crack my skull so they could slice open my ankles and bleed me for their experiments.