Nightlord: Sunset (64 page)

That was wrong, somehow.  What was it Davad has said?  I think too much.  Don’t think, just do.  Zen and the art of the sword.  Like with Sir Dele, that pellucidly clear moment of perfect action.

I tried to remember how that felt.  Peldar gave me lots of time.

For nearly ten minutes he kept up a high attack, never pausing, always trying to “kill” me every second of it.  But he couldn’t keep it up forever.  He began to slow, and when he did I saw an ideal opening.  I hit his helm with my first and only attack of the whole fight.  It took him completely by surprise; I hadn’t struck at him even once until that moment—but it was the perfect moment, and the perfect blow.  It made his helm ring like a bell.  He dropped as though I’d killed him; in truth, I put quite a dent in the metal.

The crowd shrieked approval.  I gathered it wasn’t like a normal bout, where someone might lie about whether or not a blow was hard enough to penetrate the armor—or
would
have been, had it been a real weapon that delivered it—but this was definite and decisive.  And, of course, it was a good show.

It earned us a tidy profit.

At dinner, I discovered it earned me a nickname, too.

In between slurping up fish and potato stew, someone asked about a wall.  I didn’t bother to look up; I was hungry.  But a moment later, I had a man looking me over from across the trestle.

“Yes?” I asked, politely.

“Are you Sir Halar?  The one they call ‘The Wall of Blades’?”

“I am Sir Halar—” I began, but Raeth interrupted.

“He is.  How may we serve you?”

“His Grace wishes to see this one,” the man nodded at me.

“When?” I asked, having a sinking feeling.  What’s that Chinese curse?  ‘May you come to the attention of powerful people’?

“After dinner,” I was told.  “His Grace must eat too.”

After he’d wandered off, I turned to Raeth.  “The
wall of blades?
” I demanded.

“You did stand there and fend him off for a long time,” he replied.  “It was longer than I thought you would.  There were a hundred openings that you ignored.  It was impressive to those who know swords, and every knight knows swords.  You built a wall with your blade—wooden though it was—and he could not break it down.”

“Oh.”  It made a sort of sense, especially in the local tongue.  “Wall,” or
Ech,
stressed, with a suffix to denote a descriptive noun was
ech’shar,
or “EK-shar,” literally meaning “a barrier made of swords.”  Wall of Blades.  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

He grinned at me.  “And spoil the surprise?”

“Hmph.  Well, you’re right; I’m surprised.  Was it your idea?”

“No, nor Bouger’s.  We just heard it; we did not invent it.”

“Good, because I don’t—”

“We did spend some coin on the bard, though,” Bouger interjected.

“Bard?” I asked, feeling a little lost.

“Troubadour,” he said.  “Entertainer.  Singer.  He says he already wrote a song about you, but now he’ll write another.  Is it true that you made stones sing?”

I groaned.  Suddenly, I had no appetite.  First, an unexpected audience with the local lord and now
this
.

“What is the matter?” Raeth asked, concerned.  “Is this a bad thing?”

“I don’t know.  I just know I don’t like being famous.”

“Why not?  How do you expect to attract men to your banner if no one knows who you are?”

I blinked at him.  “I don’t have a banner.”

“Not yet,” he corrected, “but you have men who will fight and die for you.  I would not be surprised to find a few of them among the soldiers.  Many are those who have come here to fight, but the pay is not enough to keep them overlong without the bounty for actual fighting.”

It halted my spiraling worry and nervousness by derailing it.  He was right.  Those men in the tower when I lost my temper… they probably would fight for me.  They’d certainly offered their loyalty, even before I was knighted, and that means a lot around here.

“I suppose they might,” I conceded, half thinking aloud.

“Indeed they would,” Bouger agreed.  “Raeth and I are here, are we not?”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Partly,” he said.  “I, too, see a great potential in you; you are a powerful wizard and a good man—perhaps even a hero.  You will be a knight worthy of legend.  I would be part of it, if I am worthy.”

It was a moment or two before I realized I was staring at him.

“You’re mad,” I said.

He grinned at me.  “Is not glory a divine madness?” he countered.  “Besides, you may not live up to your potential; then I shall have to settle for being wealthy.”  He jingled his coin pouch.

“Or dead!”

“There is always that risk.  I’ll take it if I like, and I do.”

I shook my head in wonder.  I don’t think I quite have the madness of being noble.

“Come then, and let us brave danger together,” I said.  “I think the Duke is done, and he wants to see me.”

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 10
TH

I
’m lucky this place is a fortress.  We cooled our heels in a hallway for a while, awaiting His Grace’s pleasure.  I took the opportunity to break into a sweat and shiver; the sun went down.  It took a lot of effort to keep my reaction from being too obvious, but there was no way I could be completely casual about it.

“Be calm,” Raeth encouraged.  “There is no need to fear; we are not under escort from his guard.”

“I’m not afraid, just nervous,” I answered, truthfully enough.  I was still wearing Firebrand and I’d picked up my staff before reporting.  I wondered again where my first staff was.  Possibly still floating out at sea, somewhere.  Someday I need to go find it, I think, or I’ll wonder forever what became of it.

“Then you have need of a bath,” he observed.  “I should ask one to be drawn for you before we go in.”

“What, and keep His Graciousness waiting?  Maybe later.”

It wasn’t much longer before the door opened and a liveried guard called us in.

The Duke lived in much nicer quarters than us junior officers.  He had three rooms.  One was a sitting room, where we were told to stand.  Another was obviously a bedroom, and the third, I discovered later, was both a bathroom and a personal armory.  The sitting room was appointed with thick tapestries, depicting forest scenes.  Rugs covered the floor, done in browns and greens, with a low couch and a large chair facing each other across a wide table.  A fire blazed away on an hearth behind the chair, but mirrors backed the oil lamps on the walls; he was easy to see despite being backlit.

“Your Grace,” said one of the guards—there were three; one by the door, the other two on either side of the Duke—“I present Sir Halar the Wizard and his company: Sir Raeth, third son of His Majesty’s cousin, Duke Wellen; and Sir Bouger, heir of the Comte de Wexbrey.”

The Duke did not rise; it wouldn’t have been proper.  We weren’t his peers, just minor lordlings at best.  We, however, bowed.  That is, Raeth and Bouger bowed and I imitated them.  Damn protocol.  I was going to need lessons, and soon.

“Come in,” he said, waving toward the couch.  “Be seated, please.”  He had a good voice, I think I’ve noted.  It could project across a battlefield or just a sitting room; if he’d been in my world, I’d have pegged him for an actor on the stage or a radio talk show.

We came in and I sat down; Raeth and Bouger did not, but stood to my right and left, at the ends of the couch.  I was surprised, but tried not to show it.  The couch was easily big enough for three big men to sit, and none of us is large, even in our armor.

“Your Grace wished to see me?” I hazarded.

He chuckled at me.  “Right to business, Halar?  No pleasantries, first?”

“If your Grace desires, of course.  May I ask how your Grace is doing?”

He laughed.  “Very well, thank you, although the cold begins to bother my bones in the mornings.  I feel my youth slipping away from me.  And yourself?”

“I’m from
farther south, your Grace; I don’t like the cold even in the afternoons.”

He also had a good laugh when he was really amused.  This was such a moment.

“Ah, it’s good to see that there’s wit in the world, still.  I thought I might be the last.  Well-said, Sir Halar—may I call you Halar?—and you’ve a pleasing manner about you.”

“Yes, and thank you, your Grace.”

He settled more comfortably in his chair, shifted slightly, and leaned against the back.  “Tell me, Halar… what made you become a knight?  I understand you were a wizard of some renown.”

Bells and whistles went off.  If he knew about my prior career as a wizard, he might also know the circumstances under which I left it—hunted by the Church.  Then again, he might not
know
about my previous employer; he might just be complimentary by assuming I did a good job of wizarding.

Maybe he’d just heard that stupid song.  I made a note to hunt down that minstrel and make him play it for me; I was suddenly itching to find out what he’d said!

“Why?” I repeated, thinking.  “I suppose I just sort of fell into it.”

At his inquiring look, Raeth spoke up.  “My lords, if I may?”  We both nodded at him.  He then told the story of how he and Bouger both tried to take that tower in the Eastrange and been captured in the process.  Until I came along, that is, and went through the place “like a whirlwind of swords and fury, slaying all that was unclean.”  I just sat and listened and stared.  Raeth should have been a reporter; from his spin on the story, I wasn’t a knight, I was a Hero!

Then he started going on about my generosity to those I’d freed, and my kindness to them.  How I’d seen them armed (with clubs and such, but armed), worked spells to help them reach civilization and safety (matchsticks!), and later accepted the two knights into my service.  Providing what armor and weapons we had to the best of my ability, even to sacrificing the opportunity for better armor of my own. 

And so on.  None of it a lie, but not all of it the truth, strictly speaking.  Damn, I was impressive.  The upshot of all this was I was a natural-born knight and couldn’t help becoming one.

The Duke took it all in, impassively, smiling here and there at some particularly amusing portion of the tale—Raeth was quite the raconteur—and nodded happily when it was done.

“Well spoken,” he said.  “Very well.  You almost make me think that Halar is my long-lost son returned.  But I am not so concerned with his prowess; that seems well-proven, given the complaint.  I am more concerned with his soul.”

It’s been a while since those icy insects crawled along my spine, but they remembered the way.

“What about my soul, your Grace?  And what complaint?”

There was no amusement in his eyes, now, only a faint regret.  Somehow, I knew if I relied on that, it wouldn’t save me from whatever he decided.  “The complaint is that you bear your arms falsely, having gained them through wizards’ tricks and magic, and that this is the source of your seeming skill.”

“How may I assure your Grace that when I fought Peldar today, I did so honestly, without magic to back my stick?”

“That cannot be proven, I think.  But I will have a magician ask you, and he will see it if you speak true.”

“When?”

“On the morrow,” he said.  “Shall I expect you in my audience chamber in the morning?”

He was asking me if I wanted to give up the pretense and walk away.  I knew it, although how I knew it, I couldn’t say.  But it wasn’t a pretense.  I had been knighted, and I hadn’t ‘cheated’ Peldar.  It’s not my fault he isn’t immortal.

Well, maybe it is, but it’s also my
secret.

But I could walk away and we would all pretend this never happened.  Peldar would be satisfied, probably, because the Duke was, and I would be shamed.  It would mean Peldar would cause no strife and there would be no conflict—or one less—between the officers of the army.

All to spare Peldar hurt feelings?  What about mine?

“I’ll be there, your Grace.”

Outside, in the hallway, Raeth and Bouger walked with me back toward our quarters; it was the end of the day for them.

“What will you do now, Sir Wizard?” Bouger asked, half-smirking.

“Well, I had in mind to head down into town and see what’s about.  I’ve an appointment with some ladies, I think.”

“Oho!” he cried.  “Such energy!”

Raeth shook his head and chuckled.  “The fire burns strong within you, Halar.  Good night.”

“Good night,” Bouger echoed, glancing at Raeth.  I bid them good night, myself, and didn’t bother to correct their impression of my upcoming activities.  I slid past my chamber to pick up some clothes.  I had plans for a bath and a change.

It was a fair walk through the fortress—everything went in and out through the rear gate; the courtyard was a killing zone, pure and simple, and was kept clear of traffic.  I nodded to the guard on gate duty and was saluted in return.

The walk down to the whorehouse was uneventful; word spread among the underworld.  Or maybe it was just that I was still wearing armor from earlier and carrying a sword.  The Squire greeted me like an old friend, clasping my forearm and beaming broadly.  All around us, there were quite a number of men and women both drinking and singing, having a grand time.

“I take it business is good?” I asked, retrieving my hand.

“Indeed, indeed!  And much thanks do I owe you.”

“More than thanks,” I mentioned, smiling again.  He nodded and chuckled and produced a purse.  It weighed about right; I wasn’t going to count it there.  “Very good,” I said, tucking it in my belt.  “Now, does this place offer anything remotely resembling a bath?”

“Indeed!  For a small fee, you may—”

An almost-pretty hellion cut him off before he could finish the statement.  “Squire!  Don’t you dare go charging him for a bath!”

The Squire frowned.  Lip from the girls was unexpected.  But he shrugged it off.

“Ah, so be it.  Magdelene will show you, since she has such concern for your pretty skin.”

Maggie sniffed at him as he turned away, then she took my arm.  Personally, I thought she could use a bath too, but I’m from a world where a hot shower involves just turning a tap.  We went into a back room with a large tin tub.  A fireplace warmed the room a bit, and a kettle of water was over the fire.

It was used bathwater.  I drew the line right there.

“Hold on, Maggie.  If being charged for it gets me fresh water, I’ll take it.  Who do I pay?”

“Give me the silver; I’ll roust out the lads.”

I gave her the coin and she got a half-dozen young men/older boys busy with buckets.  It wasn’t ten minutes later that the tub had been emptied and refilled with icy river-water.  I warmed it by stirring it with Firebrand until it steamed; one kettle of hot water wasn’t going to do it.  It felt like Firebrand grumbled a little.  Maybe it was getting tired of warming my bathwater.  I made a note to stick it in a fire for a while, and soon.

Maggie helped me out of my armor—which, by the way, is damned awkward stuff to put on or take off alone.  I was glad of the help.  This she set to one side, along with the quilted undergarment and the clothes I’d worn beneath that.  I gave her another silver coin and she fetched someone else to have them taken and cleaned.  Meanwhile, I leaned my staff and Firebrand against one side of the tub, in easy reach.

She came back in with the valet service and they hustled out with my old clothes; Maggie remained and moved over to the tub to help me bathe.  I had no real objection; at least not after I thought about it for a second or so.  What the hell.  It wasn’t a hot shower, but she could get the awkward places on my back.

So it was that I was starting to feel clean again when the door slammed open and a trio of drunken soldiers lurched into the room.  I grabbed Firebrand’s hilt, but did not draw; they were wielding two cups and a bottle, but their manner was less than threatening.

“Wher’z th’ wizard what cures the pox?” one slurred.  “I’ve an itch tha’ won’ go, and a sore tha’s a sore point!”

“That would be I,” I answered, trying for what dignity I could manage.  I don’t think it was much.  Well, I was up to my ribs in soapy water.

“Then have a look, then!” he declared, and handed off the bottle to unfasten his breeches.

I swore to myself to never become a doctor, followed by an equally strong desire to never make house calls.

“Yes, that looks like a problem,” I admitted.  “Quite the rash you have there.”

“Can y’make it
go
?” he demanded, trying not to sway.

“Of course.  But bursting in on my bath will cost you.”

“S’okay; I don’ want t’tell everyone about m’loins.”

Maggie muttered, with a trace of disdain, “Small hope of
that
,” but only I could hear it.  I didn’t laugh, but it was a near thing.

So I worked the spell that would hunt down the things in his body causing the rash; it took maybe two minutes.  Then, just because I didn’t want him barging back in to demand why it wasn’t gone, I redirected his body’s energies—told his body to get busy on
this
problem, the visible symptoms.

“Now,” I said, looking him in the eye, “you go drink beer for the rest of the night.  No less then six tankards of it.  Then sleep it off; in the morning, you should be well.”  A good flushing out of his kidneys wouldn’t hurt; besides, cleaning out his systems would be a good idea with all the dead bugs floating in him.

He blinked at me.  “Tha’s it?”

“That’s it.  Tomorrow, you’ll pay me, or I’ll hunt you down.  Got that?”

“Got it.”

I waved a finger at him.  “I’m a wizard
and
a knight, remember!”

“Got it,
Sir!
” he amended, and saluted.  I could tell he was a career man; staggering drunk and he could salute:  the right hand, closed to a fist, wrist in, knuckles out, pressed to the left breast, as though holding a blade upright.  Very crisp.  I mentally marked him as a sergeant.