Nightlord: Sunset (46 page)

Once the cracking, popping, and internal slurping around were finished, I got up and checked on my stuff.  The saddlebags had sailed even farther than I had and were a pain to locate; tall grass does that.  But all things considered, I was lucky; Bronze hadn’t crushed anything vital.  Then again, what was left after a trip into the sub-ocean realms wasn’t too vulnerable to crushing.

After a few stretches and pops, I felt almost back to normal for the evening.  I brushed myself down— I desperately needed both a laundry and a bath—and mounted up.

“Can we avoid that sort of thing in the future?”

Bronze nodded vigorously.  I don’t think she liked falling on me any more than I did.

It was considerably more than twenty minutes before I caught sight of campfires during one of our now-more-cautious leaps.  I lost them again when we came down, but no matter; I had a marker for where we would be headed.  We turned off our line to pass by the campfires and continued until we were well to one side.  I took another bearing on Shada, which showed her to be in the camp.

Aha!

Now, riding toward a camp in broad daylight had me looked at, shot at, and made a lot of people nervous.  I doubted a casual stroll up in the middle of the night was going to be any less disturbing.  Ergo, stealth.  Hopefully more effective stealth than I’d used on the herd of animals.

I extended my tendrils all over the place, a lot like the wings I designed for light feeding, but much more nebulous.  I only wanted to notice everything, not consume it.  With magical senses extended, I then drew down a piece of the night to cloak me.

Okay, okay; I cast a spell to change my coloration to a broken-up black-green-and-grey camouflage.  It wasn’t perfect concealment, but it affected both my clothes and myself.  With that and my tendril-web to warn me of anyone moving around, I felt I’d be all right. 

I left Bronze just over the rise of a hill as I crept into camp.  It’s good to have cavalry in reserve.  She wasn’t too pleased at the idea; I think she was still a little protective after our accident.

The camp was hardly a model of military efficiency.  Aside from one wakeful fellow with a weak bladder, I didn’t see anyone.  But my compass worked fine; I homed in on a larger tent and circled it, noting where it pointed.  There was someone in there, and I could smell blood; that decided me on speed.  A quick slash with the dagger and I put my left leg through the slit, followed it inside…

Someone at my back knifed me under the ribs, just under the vest, up into my left lung.

It was a unique sensation; I’ve never been knifed before.  As a human, it would have been ugly.  But, being dead, it was just a sharp, cool sensation where I normally don’t even
have
sensation.  I don’t often consider how my kidney feels.  Or my liver, for that matter. 

Not wanting to make a lot of ruckus, I didn’t even turn to look at my assailant.  I just folded and collapsed inside the tent.  A moment later, I got turned over—with effort—and saw Shada standing over me with a bloodied blade.

“You!” she hissed, catching my features by the moonlight from the slit in the tent.  I was glad to see she was recovering nicely.  A couple of days and a healing spell had done wonders for her appearance.

“Me,” I whispered back.  “I’m rescuing you.  What gives?”

She seethed wordlessly at me for several seconds.  “I am escaping.  But you can
help
.”

“Sure.  I’m agreeable.  What’s your plan?”

She nodded toward the middle of the tent; a man was lying there, unmoving, near the embers of a fire.  From the look of him, he was going to be unmoving until someone carried him off.

“He thought to keep me a prisoner, the price for letting the rest go.  He wished to keep me as his woman, but found that I am
not
to be taken.  No one knows he is dead.  I had intended to steal a pair of horses and make for Eastgate.  But you are never without that metal steed of yours; it will be much faster.  Let us ride it and be gone.”

I nodded.  “Well, that was kinda my idea, too.  Let’s see if we can’t sneak out of here.  Stay close to me; I have spells to help avoid being noticed.”

She did so, keeping one arm around my waist as I kept one about her shoulders.  I expanded my spell to camouflage her as well.  We practically danced out of camp and around the hill to Bronze.

“I’m going to have words with the captain,” I said, helping her mount.

“He had no choice but to barter me for their freedom,” she replied as I swung into the saddle behind her.  “We came upon them unexpectedly at the close of the day; our few mounts were tired and the barbarians armed with slings and spears.  I
told
the captain to offer me; I can take care of myself.”

“I agree; you can.  I’m still not pleased with him,” I replied, kicking Bronze into a gallop.

I forgot Shada was not familiar with Bronze’s gait in this rolling country.  She gasped as we left the ground and white-knuckled the saddlehorn as we started to come down.  But Bronze landed as smoothly as silk on glass.

We paused there between two hills for her to quietly berate me; I told Bronze to take it easy after that.  She stopped jumping; the up-and-down still made Shada a trifle seasick.  However, we made excellent time until dawn.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 7
TH

W
e reached the pass of Eastgate before noon and paused for a stretch.  There would be a few hours’ ride to the other end of the pass, then the gate itself. 

Shada had recovered somewhat while a prisoner; I wove a minor spell through her to hasten the process and to be sure any infection was taken care of.  While I did so, I took the opportunity to cast her non-detection spell again.  I asked her about it; she did not recall anyone waving their hands and chanting at her, which left me with a minor mystery.  Perhaps the inquisitors took it down.  It’s possible it just failed on its own.  After all, it’s a spell, not an enchantment, and needs to be refreshed periodically.

During this, I noted smoke coming from this side of the range; not out in the plains, but in the mountains themselves.

“Shada?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing.  She shaded her eyes and peered.

“I do not see anything.”

Well, it was a very thin line of smoke, but my eyes had become exceptionally sharp even by day.  “I see smoke.  Like from a chimney or a small fire or something.”  I wondered if the Eastrange was at all volcanic.

“I do not see… wait.”  She shaded her eyes.  “Perhaps I do see something.”

“Any idea what it could be?”

“No.  The savages live down in the grasslands, not in the mountains. 
Orku
, perhaps.”

Orku
rang bells.  I knew that word. 
Orcs.

“You’re kidding.”

“No, of course not.  They favor colder climes and mountains.  The
galgar
like the mountains, as well.  The Eastrange is a dangerous place.”

Galgar
sounded the word
goblin
in my head.

“Hmmm.  How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you.  But hungry.”

“We’ll camp here for the rest of today; maybe we’ll see the rest of the survivors trooping this way.  Tonight, I’ll get you something more material to eat and see you to the gate.  After that, I’m going to check out the smoke.  I’ve never seen an orc.”

There was a pause for a beat too long, then she asked, “You will leave me?”

I looked at her.  There was something in her tone that sounded strange.  But the answer was obvious.

“No, I’m not
leaving.
  You’ll see me again; I just don’t want to put you at risk while I satisfy my curiosity.”

Shada nodded.  “Oh,” was all she said.  Either she had great faith in me or wasn’t impressed by
orku
and
galgar.

“So what can you tell me about these things?”

“They are not smart, but they are cunning, fierce, and strong.  Have a care.”

“I will.”

It was a fairly long ride through the pass; I didn’t realize the mountain range was that wide.  But my initial impression of the pass was correct.  It was like a giant axe had fallen across the Eastrange and darn near divided it.  Well, maybe it took a couple of axe-strokes; the pass wasn’t fully straight, but jogged left or right on occasion.  It sloped upward from the plains, very gradually, to meet the top of the foothills on the western side.  From the looks of it, the pass flooded when it rained; maybe erosion had worn the pass deeper toward the east.

Getting in through the Eastgate was more of a challenge than I expected.  I mean, it was obvious we weren’t the natives of the eastern plains, so I didn’t think it would be all that hard.  Here we are, driven off course by a storm, shipwrecked in a savage land of bloodthirsty barbarians, by some miracle spared a horrible death at their hands, fortunate to even make it this close to home—at least, that was our story—and nobody will open the bloody
door
!

I resolved to learn how to disintegrate things.  Without causing an explosion.  Someday.

“Listen to me you arrogant, overpaid, lazy excuse for a soldier!  You open this gate
right now
or I’ll have your head for a footstool!  Or maybe just give you a case of piles, scurvy, and a permanent limp!”

The guard I addressed spat over the wall.

“You a magician, then?” he asked, drawling.

“A wizard.”

“Oh.”

We waited.  Nothing happened.  Zip.  I watched.  He didn’t move an inch.

I gestured, reaching out to him with a spell.  I set fire to one of his shoes.  There ensued a howl and much commotion.  Once extinguished, he leaned over the battlement, shook his fist in my general direction, and hurled epithets.

“Next time,” I shouted back, “I’ll set fire to your
face! 
Now open the damned gate!”

He shut up.

Much clanking and groaning followed, as well as much stomping and lesser clanging from men arranging themselves on the wall.  If you’re opening a gate, you’re arming the wall and rousing the garrison.  Fortunately, this particular garrison was about as lax as you can get; they would never have let us in if they were professional.  I guess nobody takes the “eastern barbarians” seriously anymore.

With the scream of rusty hinges, the gate opened and the portcullis rose.  We rode in through the opened portal and started parrying questions.  Someone, I think the garrison commander, demanded the whole story.  I invited him to come with us to our inn and share a meal and some wine while we talked.  That went over very well and he accepted, on duty or not.

I twisted the truth a little, adding the bits about a storm, a shipwreck, and hitting shore on the wrong side of the Eastrange.  Anything he asked that could have been difficult I answered with, “I’m a wizard, not a sailor; I have no idea.”

It worked, too.  The wine may have helped.  I thanked him for his help at the gate and gave him one of the pearls the sea-people provided.  That went over
very
well.  It was late in the afternoon when he finally went away.

By sunset, I saw Shada safely installed in a room of her own and well-supplied with funding; the sea-people had been quite generous.  But then, even gold was just a pretty form of ballast to them.

“When will you be back?” she asked, holding a double handful of wealth.

“Tomorrow night, probably; maybe the night after.”

“What do I do if you don’t come back?”

I shrugged.  “Find someplace and settle down?  Buy some land and hire some peasants?  I don’t know.”

She let the loot tumble to the tabletop and laid her hand on my arm.  “Please… do nothing stupid.”

“It is too late for that,” I said, smiling.  “But I’ll try not to repeat myself.”

She smiled slightly and nodded.  “All right.  I don’t understand what attracts you so to a bit of smoke.  But satisfy your curiosity.  Go do—whatever it is you have to.”

So I did.

I waited until after dark before setting out; I didn’t want to just barely get started before whipping out a body bag.  Besides, the local inn had a bathchamber; I needed a good scrubbing.

Getting back out through the gate was easier; it just involved some bribery.  From this side, I could hand a man some gold and ask him to open the gate.  No problem.  It was all downhill from there, all the way back to the plains.  Then a hard left in the marshy area at the eastern mouth of the pass and I started looking for smoke.

As I rode north along the foothills—up and down, up and down; Bronze, I suspected, liked to jump—I began to wonder about Shada’s comment… why my sudden interest?  I didn’t have anything special to do immediately, that was true… but I had just rescued/helped Shada and was leaving her to her own devices again in a strange town.  I also felt an urge to talk to Tamara again—about what I had no idea; maybe just to talk to her.  But what I was
doing
was riding off to investigate a thin line of smoke in the wilderness.

I shook my head.  That just didn’t sound right, somehow.

Reining up, I thought about this.  Why the sudden curiosity?  What did I want with this line of smoke?  Why was it so important to find out about it?  Just to see a real, live orc?  Or goblin?

I shook my head.  I had no idea.  Curiosity, maybe.  Divine guidance, perhaps.  Infernal influence, possibly.  But whatever the reason, I was going to go, look around, and decide from there.  Yes.

Questioning my own thought processes is not merely difficult, but futile.  My mind is normally a black box; my senses go into it, my conclusions come out.  I like it that way, especially since the results are frequently correct.  Examining my method of thinking might bring on the centipede’s dilemma.  But I know enough of my own mind to realize something about this was as off as week-old milk; nothing for it but to go find out what it was, though.

Bronze rumbled up into a canter again and we covered ground.  We were within an hour or so of where I thought the place should be when I stopped for sunrise.  Lying in a body bag with a bronze horse standing guard over you isn’t the most pleasant experience in the world, but you’d be amazed at what you can get used to.  It’s better than frying in the sun, certainly.

So now I had a dilemma.  Go on and look around during the day, or hang back and wait for nightfall?

Decisions, decisions.  We would go and look around, carefully.  At the first sign of trouble, we would be gone like the wind.

So Bronze bore me up into the mountains and we sought for smoke.  It was almost noon before I saw the smoke again.  We headed for it and came up over the shoulder of another slope to look at it from a distance.  Bronze waited, several paces lower down, while I crept up along a large, slanted slab of stone to peer over the edge.

It was a tower.  Not a large tower, but a squat, heavy one.  Smoke was trailing up from a sizable chimney—a very small amount of smoke for such a large chimney.  Santa would have an easy time with this place.

There was no one in sight.

This did not count as trouble, no, but I considered getting some distance anyway.  I had
intended
to look around, see who or what was present, and then figure out whether to greet them or avoid them.  But there was nobody visible.

Fine.  I lay down on my large rock, covered my head with my jacket, put my chin on my forearms, and watched.  Someone would be coming out, sooner or later.  And if ‘later’ meant ‘after sunset,’ I would probably just go in and have a look around anyway.

Such were my thoughts as I settled in for a light nap.

And couldn’t.

I was comfortable enough, but I was unable to so much as nod off.  The tower was
right there
, and it was a place of mystery.  I wanted to go in, look around, rummage through somebody’s stuff.  Or knock on the door and ask for a cup of sugar.  Even peek down the chimney and see how big the fireplace was. Something.  Anything.

That simply isn’t normal.  I’d have done something about it, too, but I was more concerned with my favorite skin than with any curiosity itch.  It was
wrong
.  It didn’t change the fact I wanted to know more about this tower.

So I thought to myself,
Self, if we’re going to go down there and look around, we should make sure we’re prepared
.

I checked my pistol, made sure I’d reloaded it with intact ammunition from Bronze’s saddlebags (and bemoaned the loss of the ammunition I had carried with me), then gathered up some good throwing rocks.  I winged a rock downrange and heard the loud “thunk” on the wood.  I waited a bit, then pitched another one.  I was about to throw a third when someone came to the top of the tower.

I say “someone.”  I may be giving the wrong impression.  It could have been some
thing
, but it was too humanoid for that.  From the look of it, it was about four feet tall, skinny, with bulbous nose, greenish-black skin, and greasy, dark hair.  It had a crossbow and looked like it was annoyed by the daylight.  It peered over the edge and then looked around.  I ducked and waited.

Then it said something I didn’t understand, beyond the basic level of comprehension involved in any frustrated curse.  With that, it went back down into the tower.

I’m pretty sure I saw my first goblin.  My curiosity, shall we say, spiked. 

I regarded the tower more critically, with an eye toward magical effects.  Yes, there was definitely a spell of some sort radiating from the structure.  It bore some resemblance to a Calling, but I couldn’t see any indication of
what
it was Calling.  Normally, a Calling is after something specific.  This just… Called.  Anyone in range, apparently.

Like a bug zapper.  With me as a potential bug.

It is a measure of the spell’s effectiveness that I never even considered turning around and leaving it alone.  It attacked me in that most vulnerable of places—my need to know.  The only thing that kept me from marching down there and knocking on the door was a keen sense of self-preservation.