Nightlord: Shadows by Garon Whited Page B

and an entire naval carrier strike group made white wakes in the sea. The carrier launched aircraft. Attack helicopters simply lifted off; lines of steam rocketed down the deck behind jets.
    I paid close attention to this one, because there were things this creation had to do, specifically, rather than just fight whatever Hagus conjured.
    Tentacles rose out of the water on the port side. Phalanx guns ripped into them with lines of fire. Helicopters gained altitude and circled, prepared to carry out antisubmarine warfare on a sea monster. Turrets rotated on destroyers and battleships; missile hatches opened, depth charges rolled, klaxons sounded.
    Meanwhile, two more jets launched and circled to form up with the first two. As the carrier group attacked tentacles and sent various forms of destruction below the surface, the jets suddenly broke off and went screaming toward Hagus, firing missiles as they went. The missiles exploded early, rather than striking him; it was as though the arena was under some sort of dome. The jets veered off and went back to help deal with the squid or kraken or whatever it was, and that suited me perfectly.
    Because Hagus flinched. He stopped leaning forward and flinched backward into his chair.
    A thousand strands of darkness looped over and around him—head, throat, arms, legs, body. Nothing hurt him; nothing even tried to drain him of vitality or essence. Instead, I tightened them as much as I could on his spiritual avatar. Physically, their power is minimal. I couldn’t tie him to a chair in the material world. Well, I don’t think I could; things have changed a little during my long sleep. But here, in this dream construct, where the mind and spirit were everything, they had real force.
    “Now, tell me more about the King of Rethven, and why he wants me dead,” I said.
    I didn’t wait for his answer. I was already sending a tendril back along the line of power that was the spell, tracing it. Somewhere to the west, yes; that was obvious. But where?
    “How…?” he asked, wide-eyed and staring.
    “I’m a nightlord. Didn’t he say?”
    “This is impossible! You’re under a binding! ”
    “Do you really want to know how I can do this?” I asked. “You’re not just in denial—you really want to know? I’ll tell you, if you do.”
    Hagus opened his mouth, paused, then just nodded.
    “No, I have to hear you say it. A nod won’t do,” I told him, still tracing back along the line of power. “It’s a politeness thing. I’m big on politeness, in case you haven’t heard.”
    “Indeed; I have heard. Very well. Please explain to me how you are able to do this. There is no way of which I am aware that anyone can counter the power of this spell without defeating the caster in the arena.”
    “That’s simple enough,” I said, playing for time while I continued to reach down the connection of the spell. “See, under normal circumstances, the subject of the spell—me, in this case—is stuck to the chair. It’s a metaphor for the entrapment your binding spell produces, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “The trouble is that you ensnared me as a mortal, and that’s all the spell found when it ensnared me. As a result, all the powers I might bring to bear—which reminds me, you did allow for my exceptional strength, didn’t you?”
    “Of course.”
    “Was that because I know I’m strong, and would bring that with me into this realm, or because I possess considerable magical and spiritual force?”
    “In this particular spell? It was your actual strength; you remember being strong. It is part of your body image, so it is part of your avatar.”
    “I thought so. Thank you. But to continue. When you ensnared a mortal, you contained a mortal. After nightfall, I was no longer mortal, and the bindings you placed on me did not allow for the containment of the powers I gain at night. Of course, you anticipated that I would be destroyed at sunset, didn’t you?”
    And there we are, the other