Page 38 of The Sunlit Man

“Would you like some?” he asked, holding up a cup. He sipped it to prove it wasn’t poisoned, though Nomad’s body was Invested enough to handle any normal poison.

He took the drink, had a smile about the codes he used to follow, then downed it in a single shot. It was good stuff. He wouldn’t have expected that from a planet full of religious types, but then again, the best moonshine on his own planet was made by a deeply religious people. So what did he know?

“The first offworlder I killed,” the Cinder King said, sipping hisown drink, “was weak. Plump, with strange long eyebrows. Tried to talk his way free through the use of some device that made his words work in our language. I didn’t know what he was. Seemed better to end him, as I thought he might be some kind of demon.

“It was in his things that I found the books.” He slipped one out of a bookcase next to the bar and held it up.

It was one of those Silverlight guidebooks, an antiquated volume—the type originally written through much travail by people visiting the various planets on difficult expeditions. That had grown easier with the advent of space travel, and Nomad felt something had been lost with the ease by which people now went from world to world.

This old volume was a survey book, which spoke of many different planets. A little on each one. Curious. It was written in Thaylen, which—with the eyebrows of the man who’d been carrying it—indicated the former owner had been from Nomad’s own homeworld.

“The translation device,” the Cinder King explained, “allowed me to read this book. The translator gave out eventually, but I’d been wise enough to commission written translations by then. The book speaks of all kinds of peoples from all kinds of places in the stars. I think this section is about you, though, isn’t it? Rosharan. A tall people with distinctive features, like here in this illustration. Warlike, extremely aggressive, dangerous.”

“A generalization,” Nomad said.

“In your case, though?”

“True enough,” Nomad said. “I’m surprised you invited me in. Close quarters favor me with my greater reach.”

That made the man’s grin grow even wider. “Youarea killer. Tell me, you have them on your world, then? Kings, warlords,emperors?”

“Too many,” Nomad said. “So?”

The Cinder King closed the book and rested his fingers on it. “I always felt that there was more for me to do. A greater destiny. SurelyIwasn’t meant to just live life in an endless rotation on the run from the light. I wasimportant. In these books, I learned what I was to do, offworlder.” He looked to Nomad, eyes glowing brightly. “I was destined to unite all of my people.”

Well, Nomad had heard that somewhere before. He smiled, then he laughed. Partially because he knew the Cinder King wouldhatethat sound. But mostly because, even here, it chased Nomad. In his early life, he’d passed through royal hands, traded from tyrant to tyrant like coins in the pocket. Until slavery had brought him low, and camaraderie finally led him to soar through the skies.

But storms. Even here, how many worlds away, it chased him. A pursuit of a completely different kind from the Night Brigade’s.

The Cinder King’s expression darkened.

“Sorry,” Nomad said. “Just appreciating the irony of the situation. Please. Continue your megalomaniacal ranting.”

The king walked over to one of his cabinets, from which he removed a very small sunheart. Barely glowing. “You know what this is?” he asked. “It’s all that remains of your kinsman, the one who visited our planet, the one I slew. Your people make for terrible sunhearts, offworlder.”

“I’m surprised you got anything,” he said. “The man you killed probably had Breath. And he was no kinsman of mine. From an entirely different country.”

“Your planet shouldn’t have different countries. You should have conquered and unified it all.”

“Conquest doesn’t remove countries,” Nomad said. “It removes lines on a map. Unity requires something else.”

The Cinder King growled softly, palming the tiny sunheart. “I thought, from what I read, you’d appreciate what I’m building here. I thought you might be inspired to find a taste of home.”

“Wrong taste,” Nomad said. “Try some curry powder next time. It has a much better flavor than tyranny. Less nutty.”

The Cinder King finished his drink, then returned the sunheart to its place. He rounded the room, passing behind one of the Charred—whom he seized by the throat. He squeezed, and the poor man didn’t fight back, barely even struggled.

“I am the most powerful man on Canticle, offworlder,” he said, still squeezing. “You see how they can’tprotest or resist? How they serve me regardless of how I treat them? I haveabsolutepower over these.” He smiled. “Once, before I rose to my destiny, I was the man who marched prisoners to their fates. There, I realized that true power is not in the ability to kill, but in the ability to control the killers.”

Well, that’s a perfectly normal and reasonable way of thinking, the knight observes sarcastically. I’m sure he’s absolutely the most well-adjusted man on the planet, eh?

Nomad said nothing. He wished that this sort of sentiment was rarer. He’d seen it in guards, in watchmen, in soldiers. He saw it in the eyes of anyone who got athrillfrom having others in their power. The stronger the person they could push around, the more intoxicating they found it.

This man might not be brilliant or clever, though he’d think himself both. Truth was, he didn’t need either to be dangerous. Because he had power, and power—wielded by a fool—could crush anyone,smart or not. These types always gravitated toward positions of authority. During the time he’d been in command, Nomad had been forced to learn to spot them. If you didn’t, then…well, this happened. They grew, like a nest of rats.

The worst kind of bully. Many were deeply afraid, which was why they lashed out. Those you could eventually help. This kind of man, though…

Well, it was refreshing. He’d faced far,fartoo many enemies with pictures from their kids in their pockets. Killed far too many people who never deserved it. But here was a man Nomad could run through with a hot poker and only feel bad for the poker.

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