“A truly generous, offer, Annalist,” Singh replied. Suspiciously. “Let me sleep on it.”
“By all means.” I snapped my fingers. Iqbal and Runmust broke out the shackles. “Put the goatbells on him tonight, too.” We had several of those, to go with several goats. Once attached to Narayan’s shackles, they made a racket whenever he moved. He was a stealthmaster, but not master enough to keep the bells from betraying him. “But don’t be surprised if I don’t feel as generous when light and warmth return to the world. Darkness always comes, but the sun also rises.”
I had my blanket around me already. I pulled it tighter and lay down, squirmed a little in a vain attempt to get comfortable, then fell into the sort of evil-haunted dreams apparently experienced by anyone who passes the night in the Grove of Doom.
I was aware that I was dreaming. And I was familiar with the dreamscapes, though I had never visited them myself. Both Lady and Murgen had written about them. The visual elements did not trouble me terribly. But nothing had prepared me for the stench, which was the stink of thousand-week-old battlefields, worse than any stench I remembered from the siege of Jaicur. Countless crows had come to banquet there.
After a while I began to feel another presence, far off but approaching, and I was afraid, not wanting to come face-to-face with Narayan’s dreadful goddess. I wanted to run but did not know how. Murgen had drawn upon years of experience when he eluded Kina.
Then I realized I was not being stalked. This presence was not inimical. In fact, it was more aware of me than I of it. It was amused by my discomfort.
Murgen?
“Us I, my apprentice. I thought you ’d dream here tonight. I was right. I like being right. It’s one of the joys of bachelorhood I had forgotten until I became a haunt.
I don’t think Sahra would appreciate—
Of course not. Forget that. I don’t have time. There’re things you should know and I won’t be able to reach you again directly until you enter the dark roads on the glittering plain. Listen.”
I “listened.”
Life in Taglios was proceeding normally. The scandal at the royal library and disappearance of the chief librarian had been played into a major distraction by the Protector. Soul-catcher was more interested in consolidating her position than in rooting out remnants of the Black Company. After all these years she still did not take us as seriously as we wanted. Or she was completely confident that she could root us out and exterminate us any time she felt like bothering.
That being a possibility, Murgen’s advice was sound. We should keep moving fast while that option was available.
The best news was that Jaul Barundandi had shown an eager willingness to attach himself to the cause in hopes of avenging his wife. His initial assignment, to be carried out only if he was confident he could manage without getting caught or leaving evidence, was to penetrate the Protector’s quarters and steal, destroy, or somehow incapacitate the magical carpets she had stolen from the Howler. If those could be denied her, our position would improve dramatically. He was also to recruit allies-without telling them that he was helping the Black Company. The ancient hysterical prejudice remained potent.
It sounded wonderful but I counted on nothing. Men driven solely by a need for revenge are flawed tools at best. If he let the obsession consume him, he would be lost to us before he could do any of the quiet, long-term things that make an inside man such a treasure.
The bad news was bad indeed.
The main party, traveling by water, had passed through the delta and was now ascending the Naghir River, meaning it was way ahead of us in terms of time still needed to reach the Shadowgate.
One-Eye had suffered a stroke two nights earlier, during a drunken knock-down-drag-out with his best friend Goblin.
Death did not claim him. Goblin’s swift intercession had prevented that. But now he suffered from a mild paralysis and the sort of perplexing speech problems that sometimes come after a stroke. The latter made it difficult for One-Eye to communicate to Goblin what Goblin needed to know to cope with the problem. The words One-Eye wanted to say or write were not the words that came out.
A problem that is maddening enough for the ordinary Annalist, coping only with time constraints and native stupidity.
You cannot prepare yourself enough. The inevitable is always a shock when it lowers its evil wing.
As if responding to a great joke, the circling crows rattled with dark, mocking laughter. The skulls in the bonefield grinned, enjoying the grand joke, too.
There were more minor bits of news. Once Murgen exhausted his store, I asked, Can you reach Slink if he’s here? Can you put a thought into his empty head?
Possibly.
Try. With this.
My idea amused Murgen. He hurried off to haunt Slink’s certain-to-be-strange dreams. The crows scattered, as though there was nothing interesting keeping them around anymore.
I continued to people the place of nightmare, hoping I would not become a regular, as had befallen Lady and Murgen. I wondered if Lady still went there, making her interment that much more a session in hell.
A crow landed high up in a barren tree, against the face of what passed for a sun in that place. I could not distinguish it but it seemed different from the other crows.
Sister, sister. I am with you always.
Terror reached down inside me and squeezed my heart with a fist of iron. I shot bolt upright. Panic and confusion swamped me as I grabbed for my weapons.
Doj stared at me from beyond the fire. “Nightmares?”
I shivered in the cold. “Yes.”
“They’re the bad side of staying here. But you can learn to shut them out.”
“I know what to do about them. Get away from this godforsaken place as soon as I can. Tomorrow. Early. Right after the Deceiver turns over the Key and you authenticate it.”
I thought I heard faint crow laughter in the night outside.
53
I took my turn on watch. I discovered that I was not the only one with problem dreams. Everyone slept poorly, including Narayan. Iqbal’s baby never stopped whimpering. The goats and donkeys, though not allowed inside, also bleated and snorted and whimpered all night long.
The Grove of Doom is just plain a Bad Place. No way around that. Some things are black and white.
Morning was not much more pleasant than night had been. And even before breakfast, Narayan tried to sneak away. Riverwalker showed remarkable restraint in bringing him back still able to walk.
“You were going to run out on me now?” I demanded. I had a good idea what he really had in mind but did not want him to suspect I knew what had become of the friends he had expected to rescue him. “I thought you wanted that book back.”
He shrugged.
“I had a dream last night. And it wasn’t a good dream. It took me places I didn’t want to go, with beings I didn’t want to see. But it was a true dream. I came away with the certainty that neither of us has any chance of getting what we want if we don’t fulfill our ends of our bargain. So I’m here to tell you I’m playing it straight up, the Book of the Dead for the Key.”
Narayan betrayed a flicker of annoyance at my mention of a dream. No doubt he had hoped for divine guidance and had failed to receive it last night. “I just wanted to look for something I left here last time I visited.”
“The Key?”
“No. A personal trinket.” He squatted beside the cook fire, where Mother Gota and Suruvhija were preparing rice. The Radisha, to the amazement of all, was trying to help. Or, better put, was trying to learn what was being done so she could help at another time. Neither woman offered the Princess’s status any special respect. Gota snarled and complained at the Radisha exactly as she would have done with the rest of us.
I watched Narayan eat. He used chopsticks. I had not noticed that before. Paranoid me, I searched my memory, trying to remember if Singh had used the customary wooden spoon in the past. Uncle Doj, like all Nyueng Bao, used chopsti
cks. And he claimed they constituted some of his deadliest weapons.
I was going to go crazy if I did not get Narayan out of my life for a while.
He smiled as though he was reading my mind. I think maybe he put too much faith in my word on behalf of the Company. “Show me the book, Annalist.”
I looked around. “Doj?”
The man appeared in the temple doorway. What was he up to in there? “Yes?”
“The Master Deceiver wishes to see the Book of the Dead.”
“As you wish.” He descended the leaf-strewn outer steps, rummaged through one of the donkey packs, came up with the oilskin package we had retrieved from the Shad-owlander tomb. He presented it to the Deceiver with a bow and a flourish, stepped back and crossed his arms. I noted that in some mystic manner, Ash Wand had found its way onto his back. I recalled that Doj’s adopted family bore
Narayan Singh and the Strangler cult an abiding grudge. Deceivers had murdered To Tan, the son of Sahra’s brother Thai Dei. Thai Dei lay buried beneath glittering stone with the Captured.
Uncle Doj had offered no promises to Narayan Singh.
I wondered if Singh knew all that. Most of it, probably, though the subject never arose in his presence.
I noted, also, that without plan or signal, my other companions had placed themselves so that we were surrounded by armed men. Only Swan seemed unsure of his role. “Settle and have some rice,” I told him.
“I hate rice, Sleepy.”
“We’re going places where there’ll be a little more variety. I hope. I’ve eaten rice till it’s coming out my ears, too.”
Narayan opened the oilskins reverently, set them aside one by one, ready to be reused. The book he revealed was big and ugly but not much distinguished it from volumes I saw every day when I was Dorabee Dey Banerjae. Nothing branded it the most holy, most sacred text of the darkest cult in the world.
Narayan opened it. The writing inside was completely inelegant, erratic, disorganized and sloppy. The Daughter of Night had begun inscribing it when she was four. As Narayan turned the pages I saw that the girl was a fast learner. Her hand improved rapidly. I saw, too, that she had written in the same script used to record the first volume of the Annals. Were both in the same language?
Where was Master Santaraksita when I needed him?
Out on the Naghir with Sahra and One-Eye. No doubt complaining about the accommodations and the lack of fine dining. Too bad, old man. I have the same problems here.
“Satisfied that it’s genuine?” I asked.
Narayan could not deny it.
“So I’ve lived up to my half of the bargain. I have, in fact, made every effort to facilitate it. The game is back to you now.”
“You have nothing to lose, Annalist. I still wonder how I would get away from here alive.”
“I won’t do anything to keep you from leaving. If revenge is absolutely necessary, it’ll be that much sweeter down the road.” Narayan tried to read my true intentions. He was incapable of accepting anything at face value. “On the other hand, there’s no way you’ll go anywhere if you don’t produce the Key. And we’ll know if you try to pass off a substitute.” I looked at Doj.
Narayan did the same. Then he settled into an attitude of prayer and sealed his eyes.
Kina may have responded. The grove did turn icy cold. A sudden breeze brought a ghost of the odor from the place of the bones.
Singh shuddered, opened his eyes. “I have to go into the temple. Alone.”
“Wouldn’t be a back way out of there, would there?”
Singh smiled softly. “Would it do me any good if there were?”
“Not this time. Your only way out of here is not to be a Deceiver.”
“So be it. There’ll be no Year of the Skulls if I don’t take a chance.”
“Let him go,” I told Doj, who stood between Narayan and the temple. River and Runmust, I noted, now had bamboo in hand, in case the little man made a break.
“He’s been in there a long time,” River complained.
“But he’s still there,” Doj assured us. “The Key must be well hidden.”
Or not there anymore, I did not say. “What’re we looking at here?” I asked Doj. “I’m not clear on what this Key is. Is it another lance head?” The Lance of Passion had opened the plain to Croaker, then had ushered the Captured to their doom.
“I’ve only heard it described. It’s a strangely shaped hammer. He’s about to come out.”
Narayan appeared. He seemed changed, invigorated, frightened. Riverwalker gestured with his bamboo. Run-must raised his slowly. Singh knew what those poles could do. He had no chance if he tried to run now.
He carried what looked like a cast-iron war hammer, old, rusty, and ugly, with the head all chipped and cracked. Narayan made it seem heavier than it looked.
“Doj?” I asked. “What do you think?”
“Fits the description, Annalist. Except for the head being all cracked.”
Singh said, “I dropped it. It cracked when it hit the temple floor.”
“Feel it, Doj. If there’s any power there, you ought to be able to tell.”
Doj did as I said once Singh surrendered the hammer. The Nyueng Bao seemed startled by its weight. “This must be it, Annalist.”
“Take your book and start running, Deceiver. Before temptation makes me forget my promises.”
Narayan clutched the book but did not move. He stared at Suruvhija and the baby.
Suruvhija was using a red silk scarf to dab spit-up off the infant’s chin.
Fools! Idiots!
54
While we were getting ready to travel, one of Iqbal’s kids-the older boy-noticed a particularly deep flaw in the head of the hammer. The rest of us had been too busy congratulating ourselves and deciding what the Company would do once we brought the Captured forth from the plain. The boy got his father’s attention. Iqbal summoned Runmust and me.
Being old folks, it took us a while to see what the boy meant. Us having bad eyes and all.
“Looks like gold in there.”
“That would explain the weight. Doj. Come here. You ever hear anything about this hammer being gold inside?”
Iqbal began prying with a knife. A fragment of iron fell away.
“No,” Doj said. “Don’t damage it any more.”
“Everybody calm down. It’s still the Key. Doj, study it. Carefully. I don’t want all the years and all the crap we went through to go to waste now. What?” Weapons had begun to appear.
“Look who’s here,” Swan said. “Where did those guys come from?”
Slink and his band had arrived. I exchanged looks with Slink. He shrugged. “Gave us the slip.”
“I’m not surprised. We screwed up here. He knew somebody was out there.” Suruvhija still had the red scarf draped over her shoulder. “Folks, we need to get traveling. We want to get across the bridge at Ghoja before the Protector starts looking for us.” From the beginning I had pretended that getting across that bridge would give us a running chance.
I told Slink, “You guys did a great job at Semchi.”
“Could’ve been better. If I’d thought about it, I’d’ve waited till they damaged the Bhodi Tree. Then we’d have been heroes instead of just bandits.”
I shrugged. “Next time. Swan, tell that goat we’re going to eat it if it don’t start cooperating.”
“You promise?”
“I promise we’ll get some real food when we get to Jai-cur.”
55
Our crossing at Ghoja was another grand anticlimax. We all worked ourselves into a state of nerves before we reached the bottleneck. I sent Slink forward to scout and did not believe a word, emotionally, when he reported the only attention being paid anyone went to those few travelers who argued about paying a two-copper pais toll for use of the bridge. These tightwads were commended to the old ford downstream from the bridge. A ford that was impassable because this was the rainy season. Traffic was heavy. The soldiers ass
igned to watch the bridge were too busy loafing and playing cards to harass wayfarers.
Some part of me was determined to expect the worst.
Ghoja had grown into a small town serving those who traveled the Rock Road, which was one of the Black Company’s lasting legacies. The Captain had had the highway paved from Taglios to Jaicur during his preparations for invading the Shadowlands. Prisoners of war had provided the labor. More recently, Mogaba had used convicts to extend the road southwestward, adding tributaries, to connect the cities and territories newly taken under Taglian protection.
Once we were safely over the Main, I began to ponder our next steps. I gathered everyone. “Is there any way we could forge a rescript ordering the garrison here to arrest Narayan if he crosses the bridge?”
Doj told me, “You’re too optimistic. If he’s going south, he’s already ahead of us.”
Swan added, “Not to mention that if he fell into the Protector’s hands, she’d find out everything he knows about you.”
“The voice of an expert heard.”
“I didn’t take the job voluntarily.”
“All right. She could, yes. He knows where we’re headed. And why. And that we have the Key. But what does he know about the other bunch? If he doesn’t get caught, won’t he try to intercept them so he can do something about getting the Daughter of Night away from them?”
No one found any cause to disagree.
“I suggest we remind one another of that occasionally, so it gets said sometime when Murgen is around to hear it.” Sahra never promised to spare Narayan’s ragged old hide. Maybe she could ambush him and take back that unfinished first Book of the Dead.
Swan pointed out, “That crow is still following us.”
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