Nightlord: Sunset (51 page)

It’s become my favorite play on words, okay?

Shada and I went down to breakfast and I told her the story of the Distant Line of Smoke and what I did in it; I altered a few details, since it was the common room of the inn.  I did not, for example, mention the fact that I sucked the life out of an unknown number of goblins—I think I spotted about thirty or so, afterward—but said I had magically incapacitated them without going into specifics.  Shada had raised an eyebrow, I flashed my fangs at her and nodded in return.  She nodded sagely and went back to eating.

That was the only real caution I required; I was still wearing a monster of a sword and the other residents gave us a wide berth.  I made a mental note to get another staff, or figure out a way to recover my old one; it was less eye-catching and good for storing spells—which I’d been lax in doing.  Maybe Firebrand could hold spells?  It was a magical blade, after all… I’d try it.

No, correction: I’d
ask
it.

It isn’t that I fear the blade—or whatever is in it—but I have a profound respect for anything that can generate temperatures generally reserved for hyperactive blowtorches and small stars.

Now, to demonstrate the differences in how Shada and I think:  I was most impressed with being shot several times and going berserk; this indicated I had a lot of unused potential, which is always a good thing to know.  One the other hand, it bothers me a lot to lose control like that; I like to have some idea of who or what I’m killing—I’d like to be able to
decide
whether or not to kill.  Shada noted it and mentioned something about being more careful not to stab me by accident again.  But when I got to the part about being knighted—she didn’t find anything unusual about Sir Bouger’s name; the word
booger
in English translates to
thebbel
in Rethven—she put down her spoon.

“Do you mean to say that you have truly been knighted?” she demanded.

“Well, yes.  On the road, coming back.  They both seemed to think it was a good way to say ‘Thank you’ after being rescued.  I told you last night, when you asked me what I’d been doing, or something to that effect.”

“I never thought you were serious,” she replied.  “Oh, my!”

I stared at her.  “Oh-my-what?”

She made an exasperated noise.  “Have you
never
…?  Oh, leave off.  You’ve no knowing of what must be done upon being created knight?”

I thought of Erik and of Donald the Black, back when I was in the SCA.  I decided, in the present circumstances, I probably shouldn’t bring them up.

“No, I suppose not.  Why?  Am I doing something wrong?”

“Well, no, not exactly.  But you have need of a red sash.”

“Whuffor?”

“Did you not see Baron Baret wearing a red sash?”

“Fairly often, yes,” I replied, thinking back.  He wore one whenever he was formally dressed or going out of the keep, and sometimes when he was in casual clothes around the house.  “I thought he just liked it.”

“And his son, Sir Peldar?”

I began to see where this was going.  The sashes she was talking about were narrow things looped about the waist three or four times, then the tasseled ends hung down from the hip to about mid-thigh.  The baron had golden tassels; his son had silver ones.  Presumably, it was a badge of knighthood.

“All right.  We’ll buy one today.”

“Not until you have Sir Raeth to go with you; he’s must purchase it and
give
it to you, along with some other things.  Although,” she added, looking thoughtful, “if he’s short on money, I suppose you could give him funds beforehand.  I am not entirely sure.”

I began to slowly realize that this was some sort of big deal.  But then, I come from a republic, not a monarchy. 
Where I come from, a title is generally just a job description.

“Care to explain to me exactly what’s just happened?  I’ve never been knighted before.”

She worried her lower lip.  “I… I am not entirely certain, but I have learned more of it while residing in Baret.  A knight is more than just a title; even nobility must earn their sash and such.  It is quite possible to have a baron, or even a king, who is not a knight.”

“So what’s with the gift-giving?”

“The one bestowing the knighthood must make certain gifts to the new knight, you see.  It marks him as a knight, as his… his badge of honor.  His identification.”

“As a knight.”

“Yes.  I think.  But I think it is more than that, too.  Knights have certain requirements to go with their authority and their privileges.  I am not certain, exactly.”

I sighed.  Oh, well; I had time.  We’d wait for Sir Raeth and Sir Bouger.  I said as much.  Shada smiled and finished her breakfast.

“Can we go shopping, my lord?” she asked.  I was hit by a memory flashback to Sasha, asking exactly the same thing.  The occasion escapes me, but she
had
said that at one point or other, and Shada sparked the memory.

“Of course,” I answered, automatically.  “I also have to get up to the gate and make sure they let the escapees in.”

“Then that we shall do first.”

And we did.  The day garrison remembered us.  Surprisingly, they were polite, took down the names and descriptions, and promised to let the night watch know about it.  Maybe their commander had words with the troops.

Then we went shopping.  I stopped by a hostler or carriage-wright or whatever you call the place.  The man dealt with horses and with carriages; I don’t know what the shop is called and I didn’t ask.  Since I don’t care to own a rickshaw, I rented one for the day by putting down enough to buy it, with the understanding that I would get the lion’s share back when I returned the thing.

In carriage terms, it was a sporty little two-seater.  No cushions, but it wasn’t for picnics; it was a working cart for people to ride with some baggage.  Ideal for a shopping trip.

Bronze looked it over, looked at me, and seemed to sigh.  I harnessed her in and stroked her nose; my guess was she didn’t like draft duty.  I thought about offering her a sugar cube, but she’s made of bronze.  What do you offer a bronze horse?

I was tempted to shelve the notion until a more opportune time, but the shelf was getting full.

“Bronze?”

She lifted her head and twitched an ear at me.

“Is there anything you’d like to eat?  Other horses get carrots and such.  If you spot something you might like to nibble, let me know, okay?”

She nodded, turning her head to look at me with one eye.

“You
do
understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

She nodded again.

“How?”

I shouldn’t have asked.  It’s not something that can be answered fully with a whinny or a stomp of a hoof.  Instead, she lifted her head and tapped me on the skull with her chin.  It felt like a sledgehammer.

I got up, rubbing the top of my head, and glared at her.

“Next time, just shake your head if I ask something too complicated.”

She nodded again.  Was that a horsy smile? 

Shada and I got into the cart and we trotted along.  Eastgate was a nice town, all things considered.  It was still something less than downtown
New York, but for the time and place… well, I’d gotten used to the local technology and had some experience with roughing it.  It was actually pretty decent, compared to, say, slogging through the local forests.

This time, instead of just visiting the local dry-goods store, we toured the more upscale merchants.  Shada exchanged some of our jewelry for coins, spent some time having measurements taken at a dressmaker’s, made me take off my boots so the cobbler could have a look at my feet, and otherwise took me in hand for a tour of the local shops.  I didn’t mind.  I could probably have managed on my own, but nowhere near as efficiently.

Bronze, however, made an unscheduled stop of her own, down in the lower-middle-class section.  We were heading down the street at a walk, sticking to the center since most traffic was pedestrian, and she pulled over in front of a smithy.  I knew I hadn’t done it, so I got out of the cart and went inside.

The whole front wall was wooden and rigged to swing upward; with the addition of a couple of posts out in the street, it made an awning of sorts.  This was mainly to let air get inside easily, I think.  The smith was a big, burly fellow with arms like knotted hawsers and a partial deafness.  The younger version of himself was helping; it didn’t take much brain to recognize the two were related, probably father and son.  The smith gestured and the younger fellow put the whatever-it-was back in the forge.  Then the smith turned to me.

“Aye?  And what can I be doin’ for you?” he asked, sounding friendly enough.

“I’m not sure.  I think I’d like a sample of various metals, please.  Iron, steel, copper, bronze, tin, and whatever else you have.  Just something the size of a nail, at least to start.  I’ll be back for more as soon as I figure out which one I need.”

The man’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.  “And what might you be needin’ such things for?”

I smiled.  “I’m a wizard.”

“Oh.”  And that was that.  He hunted up several metals, both shards and ingots; iron and copper were easy, since there were iron scraps about and copper coins.  Steel was harder, since it was hard to make and seldom wasted; I wound up purchasing an unfinished knife.  There was zinc and tin for making brass and bronze.  He melted some into bronze for me and I bought a set of brass buttons while I was at it.  I also got some silver from him for the gold I gave, so that worked out.

While his son was working the bellows to melt the bronze, the smith asked, “Wizard?  ’Tis certain that what you’re doin’ is beyond my ken, but would ye take a moment to try and explain?  I’m powerful curious.”

“Sure.  This going to be a minute?”

“Aye.”

“Then step outside and meet someone.”

We did so, and I introduced Shada.  He bowed.  “Pleasure to meet wi’ you,” he said.  “I am mastersmith Larel.”

“How do you do, mastersmith?”

“Well enough, and thank ye, lady.”

“And this,” I said, diverting him, “is my horse, Bronze.  Bronze, this is mastersmith Larel.”

Bronze extended one foreleg, drew back the other, and dipped her head in a bow.

Larel stared hard at her.  “Your horse…”

“… is Bronze,” I finished.  “Yes.  She has no need to eat, so far as I know, but I have a mind to see if there is anything she
will
.”

He blinked, and I could almost hear the hamster squealing as it sprinted in the wheel.

“So you’ll see if I’ve aught that will feed her?”

“Yes.”

He walked around her, carefully, gently patting her neck and rubbing her sides.

“’Tis excellent work,” he said, finally.  “I could cast such a figure, but another must need ha’ made the mold.  I have never seen the like.  She’s a right beauty, she is.”

I chuckled and glanced at Shada.  She was reclining in the cart, arms folded, trying not to smile; not a word about her beauty, but Bronze was the only metal at hand.  Maybe all smiths are like that.  Or maybe he thought it would be forward to say anything about Shada.  It would certainly have been forward to handle her as he was handling Bronze.  But Bronze didn’t mind.

“That she is,” I agreed.  “Fast, smart, tough, and beautiful.  I like her.  Do you see why I would like to find something she will eat?”

“If she wishes it, I’d feed her the finest steel I can craft,” he remarked.  “My thanks for the kindness; I’ll surely sleep better for having been shown.  Shall I bring her the pieces?”

“Sure.”

A moment later, Bronze was sniffing at the various bits of metal.  She nibbled on the iron scraps, spat it out.  The tin was more palatable, but she didn’t take more than a few ounces of it—and a good thing, too; chewing it made a racket.

“Nothing you like?”

She shook her head.

“Still think there’s something here?”

Nod.

“Well, there’s some bronze in the forge—”

Headshake.

“No?  Well, I’m stumped.”

Shada called out, “Why should she wish to eat bronze?  She
is
.”

I thought about that.  Horses don’t eat horseflesh, but you are what you eat.  “Good point.”

“Wizard?” asked the smith.  “If I may?”

“Sure.  What’s up?”

“If she’ll take no metals, then p’raps coal?  It feeds the forge to make the metal.”

“Excellent thought!  Fetch me a rock, please.”

He did so, and I held it out on my open palm.  Bronze snuffled it, snapped it up, and made crunching noises with it.  Then she butted me in the chest—
ouch
—and sent me sprawling backward into the smithy.  I hit the floor hard and skidded into Larel’s feet.

Lying on the smithy floor, I folded my hands together and looked up at the startled Larel.