The Black Company

by Glen Cook

  There is no truth to that canard. Goblin is thoroughly heterosexual. One-Eye was trying to start something.

  Goblin made a gesture. A great shadow-figure, like Soulcatcher but tall enough to brush the ceiling beams, bent and skewered One-Eye with an accusing finger. A sourceless voice whispered, “It was you that corrupted the lad, sodder.”

  One-Eye snorted, shook his head, shook his head and snorted. His eye glazed. Goblin giggled, stifled himself, giggled again. He spun away, danced a wild victory jig in front of the fireplace.

  Our less intuitive brethen grumbled. A couple of hairs. With those and two bits silver you could get rolled by the village whores.

  “Gentlemen!” The Captain understood.

  The shadow-show ceased. The Captain considered h wizards. He thought. He paced. He nodded to himself Finally, he asked, “One-Eye. Are they enough?”

  One-Eye chuckled, an astonishingly deep sound for s small a man. “One hair, sir, or one nail paring, is enough Sir, we have him.”

  Goblin continued his weird dance. Silent kept grinning Raving lunatics, the lot of them.

  The Captain thought some more. “We can’t handle this ourselves.” He circled the hall, his pacing portentous “We’ll have to bring in one of the Taken.”

  One of the Taken. Naturally. Our three sorcerers are 0I most precious resource. They must be protected. But... Cold stole in and froze us into statues. One of the Lady’ shadow disciples.... One of those dark lords here No....

  “Not the Limper. He’s got a hard-on for us.”

  “Shifter gives me the creeps.”

  “Nightcrawler is worse.”

  “How the hell do you know? You never seen him.”

  One-Eye said, “We can handle it, Captain.”

  “And Raker’s cousins would be on you like flies on horseapple.”

  “Soulcatcher,” the Lieutenant suggested. “He is our patron, more or less.”

  The suggestion carried. The Captain said, “Contact him One-Eye. Be ready to move when he gets here.”

  One-Eye nodded, grinned. He was in love. Already tricky, nasty plots were afoot in his twisted mind.

  It should have been Silent’s game, really. The Captain gave it to One-Eye because he cannot come to grips wit! Silent’s refusal to talk. That scares him for some reason.

  Silent did not protest.

  Some of our native servants are spies. We know who they are, thanks to One-Eye and Goblin. One, who knew nothing about the hair, was allowed to flee with the news that we were setting up an espionage headquarters in the free city Roses.

  When you have the smaller battalions you learn guile.

  Every ruler makes enemies. The Lady is no exception. The Sons of the White Rose are everywhere.... If one chooses sides on emotion, then the Rebel is the guy to go with. He is Fighting for everything men claim to honor: freedom, independence, truth, the right.... All the subjective illusions, all the eternal trigger-words. We are minions of the villain of the piece. We confess the illusion and deny the substance.

  There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious historians rule where good or evil lies.

  We abjure labels. We fight for money and an indefinable pride. The politics, the ethics, the moralities, are irrelevant.

  One-Eye had contacted Soulcatcher. He was coming. Goblin said the old spook howled with glee. He smelled a chance to raise his stock and scuttle that of the Limper. The Ten squabble and backbite worse than spoiled children.

  Winter relaxed its siege briefly. The men and native staff began clearing Meystrikt’s courtyards. One of the natives disappeared. In the main hall, One-Eye and Silent looked smug over their cards. The Rebel was being told exactly what they wanted.

  “What’s happening on the wall?” I asked. Elmo had rigged block and tackle and was working a crenel stone loose. “What’re you going to do with that block?”

  “A little sculpture, Croaker. I’ve taken up a new hobby.”

  “So don’t tell me. See if I care.”

  “Take that attitude if you want. I was going to ask if you could go after Raker with us. So you could put it in the Annals right.”

  “With a word about One-Eye’s genius?”

  “Credit where credit is due, Croaker.”

  “Then Silent is due a chapter, isn’t he?”

  He sputtered. He grumbled. He cursed. “You want to play a hand?” They had only three players, one of whom was Raven. Tonk is more interesting with four or five.

  I won three hands straight.

  “Don’t you have anything to do? A wart to cut off, or something?”

  “You asked him to play,” a kibitzing soldier observed.

  “You like flies, Otto?”

  “Flies?”

  “Going to turn you into a frog if you don’t shut your mouth.”

  Otto was not impressed. “You couldn’t turn a tadpole into a frog.”

  I snickered. “You asked for it, One-Eye. When is Soulcatcher going to show?”

  “When he gets here.”

  I nodded. There is no apparent rhyme or reason to the way the Taken do things. “Regular Cheerful Charlies today, aren’t we? How much has he lost, Otto?”

  Otto just smirked.

  Raven won the next two hands.

  One-Eye swore off talking. So much for discovering the nature of his project. Probably for the best. An explanation never made could not be overheard by the Rebel’s spies. Six hairs and a block of limestone. What the hell? For days Silent, Goblin, and One-Eye took turns working that stone. I visited the stable occasionally. They let me watch, and growl when they would not answer questions.

  The Captain, too,, sometimes poked his head in, shrugged, and went back to his quarters. He was juggling strategies for a spring campaign which would throw all available Imperial might against the Rebel. His rooms were impenetrable, so thick were the maps and reports.

  We meant to hurt the Rebel some once the weather turned.

  Cruel it may be, but most of us enjoy what we do-and the Captain more than anyone. This is a favorite game, matching wits with a Raker. He is blind to the dead, to the burning villages, to the starving children. As is the Rebel. Two blind armies, able to see nothing but one another.

  Soulcatcher came in the deep hours, amidst a blizzard which beggared the one Elmo endured. The wind wailed and howled. Snow drifted against the northeast comer of the fortress, battlement-high, and spilled over. Wood and hay stores were becoming a concern. Locals said it was the worst blizzard in history.

  At its height, Soulcatcher came. The boom-boom-boom of his knock awakened all Meystrikt. Horns sounded. Drums rolled. The gatehouse watch screeched against the wind. They could not op-^n the gate.

  Soulcatcher came over the wall via the drift. He fell, nearly vanished in the loose snow in the forecourt. Hardly a dignified arrival for one of the Ten.

  I hurried to the main hall. One-Eye, Silent, and Goblin were there already, with the fire blazing merrily. The Lieutenant appeared, followed by the Captain. Elmo and Raven came with the Captain. “Send the rest back to bed,” the Lieutenant snapped.

  Soulcatcher came in, removed a heavy black greatcloak, squatted before the fire. A calculatedly human gesture? I wondered.

  Soulcatcher’s slight body is always sheathed in black leather. He wears that head-hiding black morion, and the black gloves and black boots. Only a couple of silver badges break the monotony. The only color about him is the uncut ruby forming the pommel of his dagger. A five-taloned claw clutches the gem to the handle of the weapon.

  Small, soft curves interrupt the flatness of Soulcatcher’s chest. There is a feminine flair to his hips and legs. Three of the Taken are female, but which are which only the Lady knows. We call them all he. Their sex won’t ever mean a thing to us.

  Soulcatcher claims to be our friend, our champion. Even so, his presence brought a different chill to the hall. The cold of him has nothing to do with climate. Even One-Eye shivers when he
is around.

  And Raven? I do not know. Raven seems incapable of feeling anymore, except where Darling is concerned. Someday that great stone face is going to break. I hope I am there to see it.

  Soulcatcher turned his back to the fire. “So.” High-pitched. “Fine weather for an adventure.” Baritone. Strange sounds followed. Laughter. The Taken had made a joke.

  Nobody laughed.

  We were not supposed to laugh. Soulcatcher turned to One-Eye. “Tell me.” This in tenor, slow and soft, with a muffled quality, as if it were coming through a thin wall. Or, as Elmo says, from beyond the grave.

  There was no bluster or showman in One-Eye now. “We’ll start from the beginning. Captain?”

  The Captain said, “One of our informants caught wind of a meeting of the Rebel captains. One-Eye, Goblin, and Silent followed the movements of known Rebels....”

  “You let them run around loose?”

  “They lead us to their friends.”

  “Of course. One of the Limper’s shortcomings. No imagination. He kills them where he finds them-along with everyone else in sight.” Again that weird laughter. “Less effective, yes?” There was another sentence, but in no language I know.

  The Captain nodded. “Elmo?”

  Elmo told his part as he had before, word for word. He passed the tale to One-Eye, who sketched a scheme for taking Raker. I did not understand, but Soulcatcher caught it instantly. He laughed a third time.

  I gathered we were going to unleash the dark side of human nature.

  One-Eye took Soulcatcher to see his mystery stone. We moved closer to the fire. Silent produced a deck. There were no takers.

  Sometimes I wonder how the regulars stay sane. They are around the Taken all the time. Soulcatcher is a sweetheart compared to the others.

  One-Eye and Soulcatcher returned, laughing. “Two of a kind,” Elmo muttered, in a rare statement of opinion.

  Soulcatcher recaptured the fire. “Well done, gentlemen. Very well done. Imaginative. This could break them in the Salient. We start for Roses when the weather breaks. A party of eight, Captain, including two of your witch men.” Each sentence was followed by a break. Each was in a different voice. Weird.

  I have heard those are the voices of all the people whose souls Soulcatcher has caught.

  Bolder than my wont, I volunteered for the expedition. I wanted to see how Raker could be taken with hair and a block of limestone. The Limper had failed with all his furious power.

  The Captain thought about it. “Okay, Croaker. One-Eye and Goblin. You, Elmo. And pick two more.”

  “That’s only seven, Captain.”

  “Raven makes eight.”

  “Oh. Raven. Of course.”

  Of course. Quiet, deadly Raven would be the Captain’s alter-ego. The bond between those men surpasses understanding. Guess it bothers me because Raven scares the I out of me lately.

  Raven caught the Captain’s eye. His right eyebrow rose. The Captain replied with a ghost of a nod. Raven twitched a shoulder. What was the message? I could not guess.

  Something unusual was in the wind. Those in the know found it delicious. Though I could not guess what it was, I knew it would be slick and nasty.

  The storm broke. Soon the Roses road was open. Soulcatcher fretted. Raker had two weeks start. It would take us a week to reach Roses. One-Eye’s planted tales might lose their efficacy before we arrived.

  We left before dawn, the limestone block aboard a wagon. The wizards had done little but carve out a modest declivity the size of a large melon. I could not fathom its value. One-Eye and Goblin fussed over it like a groom over a new bride. One-Eye answered my questions with a big grin. Bastard.

  The weather held fair. Warm winds blew out of the south. We encountered long stretches of muddy road. And I witnessed an outrageous phenomenon. Soulcatcher got down in the mud and dragged that wagon with the rest of us. That great lord of the Empire.

  Roses is the queen city of the Salient, a teeming sprawl, a free city, a republic. The Lady has not seen fit to revoke its traditional autonomy. The world needs places where men of all stripes and stations can step outside the usual strictures.

  So. Roses. Owning no master. Filled with agents and spies and those who live on the dark side of the law. In that environment, One-Eye claimed, his scheme had to prosper.

  Roses’ red walls loomed over us, dark as old blood in the light of the setting sun, when we arrived.

  Goblin ambled into the room we had taken. “I found the place,” he squeaked at One-Eye.

  “Good.”

  Curious. They had not exchanged a cross word in weeks. Usually an hour without a squabble was a miracle.

  Soulcatcher shifted in the shadowed corner where he remained planted like a lean black bush, a crowd softly debating with itself. “Go on.”

  “It’s an old public square. A dozen alleys and streets going in and out. Poorly lighted at night. No reason for any traffic after dark.”

  “Sounds perfect,” One-Eye said.

  “It is. I rented a room overlooking it.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Elmo said. We all suffered from cabin fever. An exodus started. Only Soulcatcher stayed put. Perhaps he understood our need to get away.

  Goblin was right about the square, apparently. “So what?” I asked. One-Eye grinned. I snapped, “Clam-lips! Play games.”

  “Tonight?” Goblin asked.

  One-Eye nodded. “If the old spook says go.”

  “I’m getting frustrated,” I announced. “What’s going on? AH you clowns do is play cards and watch Raven sharpen his knives.” That went on for hours at a time, the movement of whetstone across steel sending chills down my spine. It was an omen. Raven does not do that unless he expects the situation to get nasty.

  One-Eye made a sound like a cawing crow.

  We rolled the wagon at midnight. The stablekeeper called us madmen. One-Eye gave him one of his famous grins. He drove. The rest of us walked, surrounding the wagon.

  There had been changes. Something had been added. Someone had incised the stone with a message. One Eye, probably, during one of his unexplained forays out of headquarters.

  Bulky leather sacks and a stout plank table had joined the stone. The table looked capable of bearing the block. Its legs were of a dark, polished wood. Inlaid in them were symbols in silver and ivory, very complex, hieroglyphical, mystical.

  “Where did you get the table?” I asked. Goblin squeaked, laughed. I growled, “Why the hell can’t you tell me now?”

  “Okay,” One-Eye said, chuckling nastily. “We made it.”

  “What for?”

  “To sit our rock on.”

  “You’re not telling me anything.”

  “Patience, Croaker. AH in due time.” Bastard.

  There was a strangeness about our square. It was foggy. There had been no fog anywhere else.

  One-Eye stopped the wagon in the square’s center. “Out with that table, boys.”

  “Out with you,” Goblin squawked. “Think you can malinger your way through this?” He wheeled on Elmo. “Damned old cripple’s always got an excuse.”

  “He’s got a point, One-Eye.” One-Eye protested. Elmo snapped, “Get your butt down off there.”

  One-Eye glared at Goblin. “Going to get you someday, Chubbo. Curse of impotence. How does that sound?”

  Goblin was not impressed. “I’d put a curse of stupidity on you if I could improve on Nature.”

  “Get the damned table down,” Elmo snapped.

  “You nervous?” I asked. He never gets riled at their fussing. Treats it as part of the entertainment.

  “Yeah. You and Raven get up there and push.”

  That table was heavier than it looked. It took all of us to get it off the wagon. One-Eye’s faked grunts and curses did not help. I asked him how he got it on.

  “Built it there, dummy,” he said, then fussed at us, wanting it moved a half inch this way, then a half inch that.

  “Let it be,” S
oulcatcher said. “We don’t have time for this.” His displeasure had a salutory effect. Neither Goblin nor One-Eye said another word.

  We slid the stone onto the table. I stepped back, wiped sweat from my face, I was soaked. In the middle of winter. That rock radiated heat.

  “The bags,” Soulcatcher said. That voice sounded like a woman I would not mind meeting.

  I grabbed one, grunted. It was heavy. “Hey. This is money.”

  One-Eye snickered. I heaved the sack into the pile under the table. A damned fortune there. I had never seen so much in one place, in fact.

  “Cut the bags,” Soulcatcher ordered. “Hurry it up!”

  Raven slashed the sacks. Treasure dribbled onto the cobblestones. We stared, lusting in our hearts.

  Soulcatcher caught One-Eye’s shoulder, took Goblin’s arm. Both wizards seemed to shrink. They faced table and stone. Soulcatcher said, “Move the wagon.”

  I still had not read the immortal message they had carved on the rock. I darted in for a look.

  LET HE WHO WOULD CLAIM THIS WEALTH SEAT THE HEAD OF THE CREATURE

  RAKER WITHIN THIS THRONE OF STONE

  Ah. Aha. Plain-spoken. Straightforward. Simple. Just our style. Ha.

  I stepped back, tried to guess the magnitude of Soul-catcher’s investment. I spied gold amidst the hill of silver. One bag leaked uncut gems.

  “The hair,” Soulcatcher demanded. One-Eye produced the strands. Soulcatcher thumbed them into the walls of the head-sized cavity. He stepped back, joined hands with One-Eye and Goblin.

  They made magic.

  Treasure, table, and stone began to shed a golden glow.

  Our archfoe was a dead man. Half the world would try to collect this bounty. It was too big to resist. His own people would turn on him.

  I saw one slim chance for him. He could steal the treasure himself. Tough job, though. No Rebel Prophet could out-magic one of the Taken.

  They completed their spell-casting. “Somebody test it,” One-Eye said-There was a vicious crackle when Raven’s daggertip pricked the plane of the tablelegs. He cursed, scowled at his weapon. Elmo thrust with his sword. Crackle! The tip of his blade glowed white.