The Night Parade

Nine

Alden McGregor had not anticipated a journey of discovery when he first began to shadow the Lhal woman and her companions. Their detour to the Knight’s Kitchen for a last meal in the city before their long journey had not seemed out of line. Even the stopover at the Tower Arms had appeared innocuous enough at the outset; after all, they were pointed in the correct direction, riding toward the city gates. Then he heard the sounds of battle. From the vantages he secretly had taken, including a position outside the steellike glass of the east wing’s first floor window, Alden had received his first taste of a world completely alien to his own, a world that apparently had existed side by side with his for a frighteningly long time. When the building was left a flaming ruin, Alden was relieved. There were monsters in Calimport, entire lairs of nightmarish creatures unlike anything he had seen except in his dreams. The past week he had dreamt that eyes were watching him, hard, flat eyes that stared at him as if he were nothing more than carrion. The eyes had grown from the walls in his dreams, burst from his flesh, and hung before him in the mists and shadows that pervaded his nightmares. They always appeared in sets of three pairs, a total of six eyes each time. A voice had accompanied his most recent dreams, a finely cultured voice that reverberated with power.

“You know,” the voice said enigmatically, “don’t you?”

Alden never thought much about his dreams, but after witnessing the battle at the Tower Arms, he had begun to wonder if demons could escape the dream world.

The blond teenager had followed Lhal and her people from the burning building. They had ridden for close to an hour, snaking through forgotten paths in the city, until they came to a one-story stone edifice. The building once had been a sewing shop, where dozens of women had sweated out the day to weave cheap imitations of fine clothing. One day the authorities had learned of the shop and closed it down. The place also had been a warehouse for a time, until fire had destroyed the contents several times over. Currently it sat vacant, the locals claiming that it was accursed. Alden smiled. A little bad luck and any location would be proclaimed as such. His mentor, Pieraccinni, had taught him that, and also that men make their own luck.

The long-haired man with the strange, arcane gauntlet had led Myrmeen and her companions through a side entrance to the building. Alden had sat in the darkening alley for a time, waiting for them to come out. When they did not, he decided it was time to return to the Gentleman’s Hall and give a full report.

Before nightfall he was back on the docks, indulging himself at the expense of the many guards Pieraccinni employed as he circumvented their best efforts to keep out intruders. Distracting the forty-year-old mercenary at the kitchen entrance by preying upon his sole weakness, a fondness for cats, Alden watched the tabby he had lifted from a gutter several blocks away mewl piteously as the man bent down and fed it some kitchen scraps. He had slipped past the man and was inside the building so easily that the game was losing its allure.

Alden weaved through the service hallways and tunnels until he reached the private door that only he and Pieraccinni’s ladies of the moment were allowed to use. He heard voices from inside Pieraccinni’s rooms and was about to turn around when he recognized one of the voices. “You know,” it said, “don’t you?”

Alden froze. The voice was the one from his nightmares. A part of him wished to turn and run from the Gentleman’s Hall, but another more curious and insistent voice within him urged the young man to carefully open the marble door a crack and peak inside.

He saw Pieraccinni kneeling before a tall man with a black widow’s peak, angular features, and a trim, athletic body. The man was cloaked in black leather and gray steel. There were three sets of eyes in his head, one set above and below the natural pair, allowing him to look to the front and each side at all times. Clusters of six eyes appeared throughout his body. He had three sets of eyes on each arm and leg, three on each breast, and six on his back. His clothing had been designed to protect his many eyes, with holes cut out to allow the eyes vision and hard crystal of many colors protecting the vulnerable orbs.

Alden wondered if the man had been born with so many eyes or if he had acquired them from his victims. His curiosity made him ponder what function each of the various sets of eyes performed.

He watched as the tall man reached for one of the strange, edged weapons at his waist and drew the blade slowly, the metal scraping its scabbard. Pieraccinni looked up, sweat exploding on his bald head as he stared at the jagged, curved knife. His master touched one of the three gems on the hilt, causing the two flat metal surfaces that made up the knife to separate. A thin strand of wire sprang upward from between the deadly blades.

Alden tried to imagine the damage such a weapon could perform if it were already inside a victim.

“You know, don’t you?” the man repeated as he gestured with the knife. “What dreams may come? Dreams of darkness and death from which you may never wake, or prosperous dreams of wealth, power, and women of such great beauty and talent that you would never wish to wake. The latter is what I have given you. I could take it away in an instant.”

“Please, Lord Sixx. I meant no disrespect.”

“Pieraccinni,” the one called Sixx said with a knowing smile. “How long do you think this life of yours would last if everyone were able to look through my eyes? If they could see past your illusions and know you for what you truly are?”

Lord Sixx waved the knife. From his hiding place Alden winced and felt a sudden wave of nausea as the scene before him suddenly changed. Pieraccinni was no longer a man. His skin was dark blue, with red and green veins visible beneath the surface. The merchant’s head was oblong, with tiny, heavily hooded eyes, a small mouth, and pulsating openings along his neck to allow for the intake of air. The man’s body had a roughly human shape, but his flesh quivered like a jellyfish under tremendous pressure beneath the ocean. Alden clamped his hand over his mouth as Lord Sixx waved his knife a second time and Pieraccinni changed back to a man.

“I will tell you anything,” Pieraccinni blubbered.

“Of course you will. That is your duty and your compulsion to he who commands the Night Parade,” Sixx said as he looked down and sighed. “Get off your knees. I’m tired of looking at your bald head.”

The merchant of arms and men did as he was commanded.

“Tell me about the Lhal woman,” Lord Sixx said.

“She has been dealt with. She will trouble us no further,” Pieraccinni mewled.

“That’s what you said the last time. Now four of our number have died and two more have disappeared.”

“Zandler and Crolus have always been unreliable. I will ask Imperator Zeal to discipline them when they return.”

“I doubt that they will. I believe he got to them.”

“Who, milord?”

Sixx grabbed Pieraccinni by the front of his shirt and hauled him into the air with inhuman strength, the blade pressed against the man’s throat. “Who do you think, idiot?”

The shirt ripped and Pieraccinni flopped to the ground. Lord Sixx retracted the wire and sheathed the knife. “Him. The Slayer. The human who stole the apparatus and uses it to kill more and more of our kind. The presence of the Lhal woman has been a minor disruption compared to the affront this man committed against us. Years have passed and we are no closer to finding him. We need to hold a festival, but we cannot until we recover the apparatus and punish this man who denies us our blood rite.”

“Lord Sixx, I assure you that our best agents have been assigned to the task. The Inextinguishables will—”

“I want results, not reassurances,” Lord Sixx roared as he raised both hands into the air. The walls suddenly buckled inward. From his vantage point, Alden felt a strange, arcane wind that prickled his skin and nearly sucked him into the room. He dug his heels into the door frame and held on to the door so that it would not fly open and alert the two men to his presence. Alden saw strange energies swirl and coalesce around Pieraccinni’s body, shredding his clothing as he writhed in agony. Lord Sixx casually leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, as if he were not affected by the supernatural gales.

“Enough,” Sixx said. The winds died away instantly. The tall man scratched the side of his nose. “Without the dampers I installed in this lair for you, exactly how long do you think it would be before you started to draw not only the ambient magic so prevalent in this city, but also a chunk or two of the weave that surrounds this world? You know what happens if you get too much magic, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Pieraccinni said, once again on his knees.

“Then we understand each other. Find the thief or I will lower the gates and let you drown,” Lord Sixx said as he glanced at the closest of several large oil-burning lamps and gestured. The room was engulfed in pitch darkness for an instant, as if the eye of their ancient god had closed for a moment. Then the light returned and Lord Sixx was gone.

Alden watched Pieraccinni lie on the floor, sobbing and quivering until his fear and shame had passed. As the man rose and walked to the large clothes closet, stripping off his ruined tunic, Alden closed the door quietly and considered his options. After waiting in the hallway for several minutes, Alden knocked at the door.

“Come,” Pieraccinni called.

Alden entered the room, his face cold and without emotion as he said, “Milord, I have something to report…”

Across the city, in the deserted building that had been a clothing mill and warehouse, Erin Shandower placed a new dressing on the cut above his left eye.

“So, you’re the one,” Krystin said excitedly. “You’re the Slayer. That’s what they call you, you know.”

“Flattering,” Shandower said, laughing bitterly as he regarded his rapidly aging face in the mirror.

“What? You’re not going to tell me your life’s story?”

“Not unless I have to,” Shandower said as he regarded the other members of the group he had brought to his safe house. There were few comforts here. A cot, blankets, salves to treat wounds, stores of food, lanterns, and empty wooden crates were all that could be seen except for a few broken looms left against the far wall and a mound of debris that he had swept into the corner. The woman and her companions had barely spoken in the last few hours.

Krystin had railed against Myrmeen to explain why she had called the girl her daughter, but the beautiful brunette’s dark eyes revealed only weariness and grief. Krystin gave up and lay down on the cot, pretending to sleep in the hope that the adults would talk about her. After a time she abandoned her ruse and went to Shandower, fascinated by his gauntlet and the power she sensed within him. Power, perhaps, to banish all of her nightmares.

“Erin Shandower,” she said. “Why do I know that name?”

“This is not the time for discussion,” Shandower said. “Perhaps in the morning we will talk.”

Lucius rose. “I’ll tell you why his name is familiar: He was a wealthy man. He secured the financing for much of the city’s rebuilding fourteen years ago, after the great storm devastated Calimport. He was known for his public works and his talent for increasing the city’s wealth.”

Myrmeen looked up. “What are you talking about? The two of you know each other?”

“I know of him,” Lucius said. “I told you, I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“We all do,” Reisz said as he placed his hand on Ord’s shoulder. The young man sat beside him, quietly managing his pain over the deaths of his surrogate parents. He knew why Myrmeen had struck him: there was a good chance that more of the nightmare creatures were in the building and the fire would have driven them out of hiding. Although he had known the moment he had seen the flames that Burke and Varina were beyond saving, he would have tried to rescue them and probably would have lost his life in the effort. His adopted parents had wanted more for him than that and he had silently vowed to honor their lives and their wishes—after he saw the Night Parade destroyed. Ord looked up and listened intently to the conversation.

“According to all public record, Erin Shandower passed on about four years ago,” Lucius said.

Myrmeen nodded and shifted her gaze to the long-haired man who walked across the room and joined them, Krystin close behind. “Do you want to explain that?” she asked.

Shandower pulled up a crate and sat across from Myrmeen. “You understand what I do?”

“Yes,” Ord said, breaking his self-imposed silence, “you kill monsters.”

“I’m waging a war,” Shandower amended.

“The odds are six thousand to one,” Reisz said stiffly.

“It doesn’t matter. Four years ago, when I decided to undertake this mission, my name was too well known. Erin Shandower had a position and responsibilities. The idea of a public entity like myself fighting a secret war against the people of nightmare sounded absurd to me and so I arranged for my own death. A fire. The body they found was one of the Night Parade’s, one that appeared human. I haven’t used my real name in years. I don’t know why I did today.”

“You’ve been following us,” Myrmeen said.

“Of course,” Shandower said. “I wanted to see if you were true allies in my cause.”

“I don’t believe any of this,” Reisz said. “Why would you give up all you had? Why throw your life away?”

Shandower’s face darkened. “I was not born wealthy. When I was young I fell in love with a beautiful, exciting woman who was as poor as I was, or so I had believed. Shortly after we married, I learned that she was heir to a fortune. A year after our union, she inherited. I found that the breezy life of a rich man did not suit me. I had been a warrior. Restless, I fell in with practitioners of the art and went on a journey of discovery with them that lasted half a year. All I learned was that I had been a fool to go away.

“When I returned to Calimport, my wife was dead. She had gone mad and taken her own life, or so the story went. I didn’t believe it, and my investigation led me to forbidden knowledge. I found her killers.”

“The Night Parade,” Lucius said.

Shandower nodded. “I learned a great deal about them, including the fact that the great storm of fourteen years ago was not a storm at all. A festival of evil occurred here.”

“But I remember the storm,” Myrmeen said.

“Of course,” Shandower said. “The monsters mask then-festivals by creating false memories in the survivors, such as storms, plagues, attacks by raiders, whatever they like. During the festival, they take every child that is born that night. The time was approaching for them to hold a new festival. I decided to try and stop them.”

“How did you find them?” Reisz asked, suspicious.

Shandower shook his head. “I had secreted away a sizable fortune, then arranged for my own ‘death.’ Months after my estate had been picked apart by the government and my business associates, I once again became a public figure, albeit one of a very different kind. I knew that there were agents of the Night Parade everywhere. As the city I called my home had been the site of their last festival, I guessed correctly that several of the monstrosities would still be present in Calimport.

“Disguised as a mad prophet, I walked the streets dragging signs that proclaimed, ‘The Night Parade is coming. Protect the souls of your children!’ I was jailed several times as a public nuisance, but eventually my efforts paid off. I was attacked by a member of the Night Parade who wished to silence me. I was able to overcome the creature, and I tortured the being until it revealed all the secrets of its kind.

“With the knowledge I had gathered, I was able to steal the apparatus the Night Parade needed to begin its next festival. The Night Parade has been trying to retrieve the object and punish the thief, but it doesn’t know who I am.

“No matter the cost, we must stop the Night Parade creatures from gathering again and slaying thousands; they can only do this if they regain the apparatus, which I’ve kept safely hidden.”

Krystin was silent. For a moment she felt faint as bizarre images sliced across the theater of her consciousness without warning or invitation. For a moment she thought she was being chased, though she did not know by whom, or for what reason. The images vanished as quickly as they had arrived.

I was their dog, she thought. They sent me to sniff out their prey.

Self-loathing surged through the girl. Hugging herself, she noticed the odd manner in which Myrmeen was staring at her. “If you have something to say, say it,” Krystin spat.

Myrmeen exhaled a ragged breath. “My name is Myrmeen Lhal. I am the ruler of Arabel. Fourteen years ago I had a child that my husband told me was stillborn, like my younger sister. He lied to me and sold the child to the Night Parade.”

Krystin stared at her without blinking. “Me.”

“Yes,” Myrmeen said warmly, a trace of the wonderment she first had experienced when she saw Krystin in the desert returning. “You are my daughter.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Shandower said. Myrmeen looked up at him sharply. “I have another story that I believe you will find interesting.”

“Tell me,” Myrmeen said cautiously.

Shandower related what he had learned in the desert from the Night Parade members who were among Djimon’s men.

“You’re saying that they arranged for us to find Krystin? Why would they go to such measures?” Myrmeen asked.

“Because they wanted a peaceful way to get you out of the city,” Shandower replied.

Reisz gave a bitter half smile as he glanced at Cardoc and said, “The spook must have frightened them.”

“Perhaps,” Shandower said without looking away from Myrmeen. “I believe they thought that if you had your daughter, you would leave. By this time they knew who you were and exactly how much attention your death would have attracted. They prefer to keep to their own, to keep to the shadows. You were forcing them to expose themselves to the light, to risk discovery. This way would be easier. Now we must address the issue of the girl.”

“I have a name,” Krystin said.

“Yes, you have much to lay claim to,” Shandower said.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Krystin said. “I didn’t ask to be rescued by you people.” The child shot an angry glance at Myrmeen. “And I didn’t ask for your name.”

“Nevertheless, you would have it,” Shandower said. “It might be desirable to them to place one of their own in succession for your throne, Myrmeen. They often need money and favors. In time, you could pass on and she—”

“But you can see our resemblance,” Myrmeen said, fighting to preserve what she now perceived as a fragile illusion. “Look at our faces, our eyes.”

Shandower laughed bitterly. “And how many of the Night Parade have you encountered who possess the gift to change their appearance?”

A river of ice suddenly leapt from Myrmeen’s heart. She felt an unexpected vertigo and tried to calm herself.

“That’s it!” Krystin said. “I’ve had about as much of this as I’m going to take. You think I’m one of them?”

Shandower said nothing. Myrmeen looked at Krystin with an expression of fear intermingled with hope. Prove him wrong, she seemed to plead with her eyes. Krystin suddenly felt Myrmeen’s overwhelming need, and the sensation made her uncomfortable. She crossed her arms over her breasts and stared at Shandower with her best, most penetrating gambler’s stare. The man did not flinch, but he eased back a few inches. Restraining a grin, Krystin said, “All right. That glove of yours. When it’s charged, the magic will kill any of them at a touch, right?”

“Yes,” Shandower replied.

She held her hand out, palm down. “Then do it.”

“Krystin—” Myrmeen began desperately.

“Shut up,” Krystin said. “If you are the woman who gave birth to me, you waited a damn long time to come get me. I don’t much care if you think it was worth the effort. But no one says I’m one of those things. How do I know the whole lot of you aren’t with the Night Parade? This whole thing could be a punishment for me. They like to play games. That might be why you dragged me back to this filthy city.”

Shandower regarded Myrmeen with the detachment of a professional assassin. “Do you wish this?”

“Forget her,” Krystin said. “This is what I want.” She placed her hand over his gauntlet, suddenly realizing that the flesh around his wrist was fused to the metal. “Do it.”

He nodded and called upon the energies residing within him. The glove exploded in brilliant bluish white light. Snakes of green fire slithered up Krystin’s arm. She remained perfectly still, only the sudden sweat that had broken out on her forehead revealing her fear. Then she smiled, the beautiful soft lights flickering in her eyes.

“What about the rest of you?” she asked.

One by one the Harpers rose and took the gloved hand. When it was over, Shandower allowed the mystical fires to retreat. Myrmeen placed her hand on Krystin’s arm, attempting a weak smile. The girl shook her head impatiently and pulled away. The tall brunette felt her last embers of hope smolder and die within her heart.

Several minutes later, Lucius said, “As long as there is a chance that Krystin is not your daughter, as long as there is doubt, I will remain at your side. Both of you deserve to know the truth.”

“But who can tell us?” Myrmeen asked.

“They can,” Krystin said. “The monsters. They’re probably the only ones.”

“Do you want to go to Arabel?” Myrmeen asked. “It will be safe for you there.”

“No.” Krystin rose slowly and walked past Myrmeen and the Harpers. Without looking back, she said, “I’ve spent fourteen years not knowing who my parents are. I didn’t think it mattered.” She looked over her shoulder, at Myrmeen. “But it matters. I’m not saying that you can ever be my mother or that I could ever be your daughter, but it matters anyway.”

Ord nodded. “Yes. More than you know.”

“I can’t ask the rest of you to continue,” Myrmeen said.

“You don’t have to ask,” Reisz said. “Remember Morlan? We avenge our own. I’m with you.”

“As am I,” Ord said.

Myrmeen stood and addressed the group. “If we’re to do this thing, it should be for the right reasons, not for vengeance, and not for personal gain.” She looked down and shrugged, her hands open at her sides. She never knew what to do with her hands when she was making a speech. “I sound so pompous.” She laughed. “It’s just that I think of my friends, those we lost today. Burke and Varina were family to all of us. If they had a vote, they would vote to do this only to fulfill the sacred duty and obligation of the Harpers. That is what they died for, as much as anything else. More importantly, that’s what they lived for. I think we should honor their memories as best we can.”

The Harpers conferred alone and decided that they would stay with Shandower, gain his trust, and learn his secrets. They were particularly interested in this apparatus that the Night Parade wanted so desperately to reacquire. They wanted to send at least one of their number to the Twilight Hall to alert the other Harpers. However, they knew that Shandower’s suspicion would have been aroused if one of them suddenly departed. This was not information that they could trust to a messenger. For now, they were on their own.

“If you will have us,” Myrmeen said as she returned to Shandower, “we will join you.”

“Allies are hard to come by in this war,” Shandower said. “I’m honored.”

Suddenly there was a rustling from the pile of debris at the warehouse’s far side. The Harpers were stunned to see a blond youth standing beside the mound of trash. He made the rustling sound on purpose, to draw their attention.

“The boy from the Gentleman’s Hall,” Myrmeen said.

“Alden McGregor,” he said brightly. “And considering my wealth of experience, dear Madame Lhal, I would hardly describe myself as a boy. Young, maybe, but certainly a man. So, how would you like one more ally?”

The boy’s wet hair was matted to his scalp, and he walked toward the Harpers, brushing at his fine clothes in a vain attempt to remove the ingrained filth from his black shirt, boots, and leggings. He had left his fine red jacket outside.

“Excuse the stench,” he said sheepishly. “I had to crawl up through the sewage tunnels to get in here. You really have a very secure location—”

Shandower grabbed the teenager and forced him down over one of the grates. Alden yelped in surprise. “I’ve come to help you!”

“We’ll see,” Shandower said.

Reisz tapped Ord on the shoulder. “Take a lamp and check the grating. Make sure there are no more.”

“I will,” Ord said, hurrying to the task.

His back upon the crate, Alden stared up at Shandower and said, “You seemed so even-tempered.”

“You work for Pieraccinni,” Shandower said. “He’s—”

“One of them, the monsters, yes, I know,” Alden said as he quickly explained the task he had been set to and his discovery at the Gentleman’s Hall. He described Pieraccinni’s transformation in great detail, and Lucius deduced Pieraccinni’s nature, that of a living siphon of magical energy.

Ord returned. “We’re clear. Reisz and I are going to check the perimeter.”

“Good,” Myrmeen said, drawing close to Shandower. Krystin joined her.

“Listen,” Alden said, “if I wanted to betray you, I could have led those things back here to you. I didn’t. I told Pieraccinni I saw your party leave the city gates. They’ll think you’re gone. They won’t be expecting anything from you.”

“Let him up,” Myrmeen said. “I believe him.”

Reisz and Ord returned. The building was secure.

“Why betray your employer?” Shandower asked.

“I might not always be on the side of law and morality, but I insist on sticking with my own kind,” Alden said. “You have something those monsters want, some kind of apparatus, and I have the feeling that if they get their hands on it, there’s going to be a lot of human blood spilled.”

“You’re right,” Shandower said. “But trust does not come easily. It has to be earned.”

“Don’t be so stiff,” Alden said. “Whatever it is you want me to do, I’ll do it. That’s why I’m here.”

He winked at Krystin. Her eyebrows went up in surprise.

Shandower suddenly noticed the gaunt mage’s dark, burning stare. “Cardoc, did you have something to add?”

“Only that I think we should find a way to hurt these monsters, and I have an idea about where to begin…”