by Glen Cook
“No. But he’s One-Eye.”
Goblin could not contain his big frog grin. That made perfect sense to him.
Nobody relayed the news to Mogaba. I thought it would go easier for everybody if he didn’t know. But Mogaba heard rumors, too.
Dejagore was a nightmare town filled with factions only loosely united in defiance of the besiegers. Mogaba’s forces were the strongest. The Jaicuri were most numerous. We Old Crew, with our auxiliaries, were less numerous and less powerful. But boy were we strong in our righteousness.
And then there were the Nyueng Bao. The Nyueng Bao remained an enigma.
43
Ky Dam’s family occupied the same dismal, filthy, smoky, pungent hole until the deluge drove them out. The perquisites of power did not appeal to the Speaker. He had a place to get out of the rain. That was enough.
Maybe that was more than he had had back in the swamp.
He did share with a troop of descendants who stopped bickering only when the outsider came around. And then the children restrained themselves only for a while.
On successive afternoons Ky Dam summoned me to consult on trivial matters. We faced each other over tea served by the beautiful granddaughter while the children quickly lost their awe of me and resumed brawling. We traded information on friends and enemies. That fevered character in the shadows moaned and groaned.
I did not like that. He was dying. But he was taking a long, long time getting it done. Every time he cried out the beautiful one went to him. I ached in sympathy. She was so haggard.
Second visit I said something to indicate sympathy, one of those things you toss off without much thought. Ky Dam’s wife, whom I now knew to be named Hong Tray, glanced up from her tea, startled. She said three soft words to Ky Dam.
The old man nodded. “Thank you for your concern, Stone Soldier, but it is misplaced. Danh welcomed a devil into his soul. Now he pays the due.”
A burst of rapid, liquid Nyueng Bao erupted from the shadows. A squat old woman waddled into the light. She was bow-legged, ugly as a warthog, in a vicious humor. She barked at me. She was Ky Gota, the Speaker’s daughter and my shadow Thai Dei’s mother. She was a dark legend among her own people. I have no idea what she was on about but I got the feeling that she laid all the ills of the world squarely at my feet.
Ky Dam said something gently. It did not get through. Hong Tray repeated his words, more gently, in a whisper. Silence fell instantly. Ky Gota scurried into the shadows.
The Speaker offered, “In all our lives we enjoy successes and failures. My great sorrow is my daughter Gota. She has within her a cancer of agony she cannot conquer. She insists on sharing it with the rest of us.” A tiny smile touched his lips. This was self-deprecating humor, meant to inform me that he was speaking metaphorically. “Her great failure, the wellspring of heartbreak for all of us, was her hasty choice of Sam Danh Qu as the husband for her daughter.” He indicated the beautiful flower. The flower betrayed a blush as she knelt to refill our cups. There was no doubt that all these people understood Taglian perfectly.
Ky Dam added, “That is the one great error that Gota cannot deny, a culmination of deficiencies that is like a brand. She was widowed young. She arranged the marriage hoping to enjoy her elder years luxuriating on the wealth of the Sams.” The Speaker showed me that little smile again, probably sensing my incredulity. Wealth and Nyueng Bao are contradictory concepts. The old man continued, “Danh was clever. He concealed the fact that he had been disinherited because of his cruelty and wickedness and treachery. Gota was too much in a hurry to investigate harsh rumors. And Danh’s evil only grew worse after the nuptials. But that is enough about me and mine. I asked you here because I wish to keep an eye on the character of the leader of the Bone Warriors.”
I had to ask. “Why do you call us that? Does it mean anything?”
Ky Dam traded looks with his wife. I sighed. “I get it. It’s more of the Black Company claptrap everybody does. You think we’re something our predecessors were supposed to have been four hundred years ago, only probably weren’t because oral history exaggerates ridiculously. Speaker, listen. The Black Company is just a gang of outcasts. Really. We’re plain old mercenary soldiers caught up in circumstances we don’t understand and really don’t like. We’re just passing through. We came this way because our Captain has a bug up his ass about the Company’s history. Most of the rest of us couldn’t think of anything else we wanted to do more.” I told him about Silent and Darling and others who had parted with the brotherhood rather than hazard the long journey south. “I promise you, whatever scares everybody — and I wish somebody would tell me what that is — it would have to involve way more work than I’m willing to put into anything.”
The old man eyed, me, glanced at his wife. She said and did nothing but something passed between them. Ky Dam nodded.
Uncle Doj materialized. The Speaker told me, “Perhaps we misjudge you. Even I allow prejudice to guide me at times. There is a chance I will know better when next we speak.”
Uncle Doj made a small gesture. Time for me to leave.
44
Goblin caught me hitting the Jaicuri books. “Murgen!” I started. “Huh?”
“About goddamn time.”
“What? What’re you talking about?”
“I been standing here watching you for ten minutes. You never turned a page. You never blinked an eye. I couldn’t tell if you was breathing.”
I started to make an excuse.
“Won’t sell. I had to yell four times and slap you on the back of the head to get your attention.”
“So I was thinking.” Only I could not recall even one thought.
“Yeah. Right. Mogaba wants your scrawny ass over to the citadel.”
“A lot of southerners have sneaked off to meet this relief column,” I told Mogaba. “At first I thought they were trying to trick us. Pull back and hit us when we tried to take advantage. But Goblin and One-Eye promise me they’ve just kept going. There can’t be a relief army, though. Where would the soldiers come from? Who would lead them?” Would Mogaba believe that I had not heard the more interesting rumors? He heard more than I did. And Croaker’s survival probably figured in a lot of those.
What would he do if the Old Man turned up alive?
I was pretty sure Mogaba thought about that a lot.
I was thanked and told to return to my people with no other comment. I did not find out why he sent for me.
Mogaba did just what I feared. He launched a recon in force, maybe trying to find new weak spots. He employed only his own most trustworthy men. And I was content to sit atop my part of the wall, watching. And wondering why Mogaba was so sure we would desert if we got outside.
I tend to ignore Mogaba here. He was a much greater part of everyday life than I show. He was misery on the hoof. My dislike makes it impossible to write about the man rationally so I discuss him only when I must.
Of all the Nar, in those days, only Sindawe ever made the effort to be civil.
Anyway, Mogaba thought he had a chance to hurt the Shadowmaster but the planners outside were getting the hang of how his head worked. He did not let a lack of success discourage him. There was that about Mogaba. He never became discouraged. No setback ever shook his conviction that he was invincible. If his plans fizzled he just recalculated.
Mogaba’s soldiers began to desert without benefit of escape from the city, coming to hide out with friends among our Taglians. They complained that Mogaba was too profligate with soldiers’ lives.
Mogaba responded by ordering special rations and preferential access to prostitutes for his most dedicated men.
We found those sealed jars of grain left over from the Shadowmasters’ first siege. Whether to share generated considerable debate. One-Eye insisted that Mogaba would not be satisfied just to share. He would want to know all about our find. He would want to see for himself. Did we want him wandering around our warrens?
No.
So wh
at does the little shit do? He turns right around and starts selling fresh-baked bread for twenty times what a loaf cost before the siege.
I found a nice quiet spot for just One-Eye and me, atop the wall on a lazy afternoon. There were fresh rumors of a battle up north but that was not our topic. I asked, “What did you tell me about why we shouldn’t let Mogaba share the stores we found?”
“Huh?” This was not the hassle he expected.
“You were extremely persuasive. All that stuff about not letting the man get into our hideout.”
He grinned, proud of himself. “So?”
“You stand by what you said?”
“Sure.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing selling his men bread when we’re not supposed to have no grain to grind for flour?”
He frowned. The connection eluded him. “Making a profit?”
“You really figure Mogaba is so stupid he won’t notice that bread? You really figure he won’t ask questions?”
“You got too rigid a way of looking at things, Kid.”
“You keep up your crap you’re really going to think rigid. You get me killed I’m going to haunt your ass forever.”
“You probably would. There’s times I think you’re halfway a haunt already.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“These spells you have. When you have them it’s like there’s somebody else looking out from behind your eyes. It’s like there’s some other soul swirling around you.”
“I never noticed.” Would I notice?
“If we had us a skilled necromancer or a spirit talker we might be surprise what we found. You wasn’t born twins, was you?” His stare was fierce.
A chill stalked my spine. The hairs on my neck stirred. I did feel spooky, sometimes. But he was just trying to change the subject.
Goblin joined us uninvited. “There’s something going on with the Shadowlanders, Murgen.”
A crow nearby made a sound like laughter. I asked, “They aren’t setting up for another big attack? I thought Mogaba screwed their main ramp.”
“I couldn’t get close enough to catch any details. Mogaba is staying out where people can see him. But I think there was a battle. And I think Shadowspinner’s creeps got whipped. We may have friends out there ready to bust us out.”
“Calm down. Don’t start packing your gear.” One-Eye snickered. “That’s the runt all over, counting his chickens when he ain’t even stole no eggs yet.”
I grumbled, “You remember what we were just discussing? Stupid moves? And you’d dare get down on Goblin?” Of course he would. That was his great mission. “What’s going on?” Goblin demanded. Uncle Doj materialized. His presence ended the discussion. That man could be spookier than any shade, he moved so fast and quiet. “Speaker says tell you southerners carrying tools instead of weapons are assembling south of the city.”
“And what’s that over there?” From our perch most of the activity was hidden behind the curve of the wall but it looked like a big engineering party had begun to gather north of the city as well. “You see any prisoners or slaves out there...? Huh?
What’s that?”
That was the sparkle of sunlight off metal in the hills. The sparkle repeated itself. People were moving out there, not carefully enough.
Shadowspinner’s men had no need to sneak. I told Goblin, “Pass the word. Full alert come sundown.”
Uncle Doj considered the hills. “You have good eyes, Bone Warrior.”
“Know something, Stubby? I’d a whole lot rather be called Murgen.”
The squat man smiled thinly. “As you wish, Murgen. I have come on behalf of the Speaker. He says tell you hard times are coming. He says prepare your hearts and minds.”
“Hard times?”
One-Eye laughed. “The party is over, Kid. Now we got to pay for loafing around and getting fat while the houris slithered all over us.”
“Keep it in mind next time you’re tempted to do some profiteering.”
“Huh?”
“You can’t eat money, One-Eye.”
“Killjoy.”
“That’s me all over. Tell Wheezer to hike over to the citadel and tell Sindawe the southerners are up to something.” Sindawe might be all right. I could talk to him without having to conquer an urge to squeeze his throat. And this would cover me on keeping Mogaba informed.
What would happen if the Shadowmaster just up and walked away, leaving us to sort ourselves out?
Sounded like the smart thing for him to do.
45
Wheezer barely made it to the top. Then he spent five minutes hacking and wheezing before he could talk. That old man had no business soldiering at his age. He ought to be off living off his grandchildren. But like the rest of us he had nothing outside the Company. He would die under the deathshead standard. Under what passed for a standard today.
It was sad. Pathetic, even.
Wheezer was an anomaly. Usually the mercenary life is brutal and short, pain and fear and misery only occasionally interrupted by a fleeting moment of pleasure. What keeps you sane is the unfailing comradeship of your brethren. In this company.
In lesser bands... But they are not the Black Company.
Croaker and I both put a lot of effort into sustaining that brotherhood. In fact, it looked like time to resurrect Croaker’s habit of readings from the Annals so the men would remember that they were part of something more enduring than most kingdoms.
I told Wheezer, “You better take a couple hours off.”
He shook his head. He would go on the best he could until he could go on no more. “The Nar lieutenant. Sindawe. Sends greetings. He said we better look out tonight.”
“He mention why?”
“He sort of hinted... that Mogaba might try... some big stunt after... dark.”
Mogaba was always trying some big stunt. Shadowspinner ought to let him set himself up. One raid too many, at the wrong time, and Mogaba would find out personally why Spinner was called a Shadowmaster.
Wheezer said something in his native tongue. Only One-Eye understood him. Sounded like a question. One-Eye muttered a few clicky syllables in reply. I figured the old man wanted to know if it was all right to talk in front of the Nyueng Bao. One-Eye gave him the go ahead.
Wheezer said, “Sindawe said tell you guys the rumors about a big battle are probably true.”
“We owe Sindawe, guys,” I said. “That sounds to me like him telling us he won’t back Mogaba a hundred percent anymore.”
Thai Dei and Uncle Doj sucked up our conversation like Nyueng Bao sponges.
Tension built for hours. With no real evidence we began to feel this night would be critical. Mostly the guys worried about new nastinesses from Mogaba. We didn’t expect trouble from the Shadowmaster any time soon.
I kept an eye on the hills.
One-Eye snapped, “There it is!” He shared my anticipations. Pinkish light flared. Lightning crackled around a bizarre rider.
“She’s back,” somebody said. “Where’s the other one?”
I did not see a Widowmaker right away.
Panic swept the plain. The apparition had taken the scattered Shadowlander camps unawares. Sergeants shrieked orders. Messengers galloped around. Soldiers stumbled into one another.
“There he is!” Bucket yelled.
“There who is?”
“Widowmaker.” He pointed. “The Old Man.” The Widowmaker figure shimmered back in the hills, larger than life.
Goblin grabbed my arm. I don’t know where he came from. “Look over there.” He indicated the Shadowlander main camp. We could not see the camp itself but a pale, gangrenous glow rose from its approximate location. The light intensified steadily.
“Spinner wants to play,” I observed.
“Yeah. He’s sending a big one.”
“A big what? Do we need to get our heads down?”
“Wait and see.”
I waited. And I saw. A nasty ball of green fire stre
aked toward the hills. It hit near where Lifetaker first showed herself. Earth flew. Stone burned. All to no avail. Lifetaker was long gone.
“He missed.”
“What an eye!”
“Lifetaker didn’t play fair. She didn’t stand still.”
“He made a stupid choice of tools,” One-Eye sneered. “You can’t expect somebody to just hang around and wait for you.”
“Maybe that was his best go. He hasn’t been healthy.”
I sidled away. In a few minutes Goblin and One-Eye would start bickering.
The confusion on the plain worsened. The southerners were more rattled than seemed reasonable. What I could get from their chatter suggested that they had been caught just starting something big of their own and their disarray left them virtually unable to defend themselves. In hushed tones, too, I heard Kina mentioned.
Lifetaker, who resembled that goddess of corruption, vanished. Maybe she lost interest. She did not reappear. Shadowspinner pasted the hills with any sorcery he could slap together. Other than starting a few brush fires he had no obvious impact.
The fox was in the henyard. Southerners scooted all over, their panic feeding on the panic of others. When one got close my guys took turns sniping. Goblin said, “They keep cussing about their feet getting wet.” I heard that, too. It made no sense.
“Holy shit!”
I don’t know who said it but I could not have agreed more.
Scores of brilliant white fireballs erupted straight up above the Shadowlander main camp. They obliterated the darkness completely. They seemed a tool of more use to a Shadowmaster’s enemies than to the villain himself.
A huge uproar followed.
Uncle Doj vanished. One moment he was beside me, the next a shadow running through the street below, then gone.
One-Eye told me, “This time I’m sure it’s Lady.”
His tone alerted me. “But what?”
“But the other one ain’t the Captain.”
Widowmaker had been visible for less than one minute. “Tell me it ain’t so,” I muttered.
