The Return of the Black Company

by Cook, Glen

  “I see. Come to the table, please.”

  Goblin and One-Eye helped me into a chair. They put on a fine show.

  There were just six people in the conference chamber, us three and Mogaba, Ochiba and Sindawe. Through the window behind Mogaba I saw water and hills. And crows. They squabbled over space on the window sill, though none would come inside. An albino turned an especially baleful pink eye my way.

  I suppose we looked too hungry.

  For one instant I saw that same room in another time, with Lady and some of the same faces around the same table. Mogaba was not among them. The window behind them opened on greyness.

  One-Eye pinched my earlobe. “Kid, now ain’t the time.”

  Mogaba watched intently.

  “Less recovered than I thought,” I explained. I wondered what the vision meant. And vision it was because it was too fully realized for imagination.

  Mogaba settled into a chair opposite me. He pretended solicituousness, avoided his usual assertiveness.

  “We face numerous grave problems, Standardbearer. They are out there and indifferent to whatever animosities we have developed amongst ourselves.”

  Goddamn! Was he going to turn reasonable on me?

  “They will be there whether or not we want to believe the Lieutenant or Captain survived. We will have to face them because I do not expect to be relieved any time soon.”

  I would not argue with that.

  “We would be better off had Lady not interfered this last time. We are isolated and trapped now because the Shadowmaster was forced to find a solution for managing two fronts.”

  I nodded. We were in a worse situation. On the other hand, we would not have yowling hordes piling over the wall every few nights anymore. Nor would Mogaba be flinging men hither and yon without regard for their lives, just trying to irritate the southerners into doing something stupid.

  Mogaba glanced out the window. We could see two Shadowlander patrols raising dust in the hills. “He can starve us out now.”

  “Maybe.”

  Mogaba grimaced but controlled his anger. “Yes?”

  “For no rational reason I feel confident that our friends will break us out.”

  “I must confess that I remain a stranger to that sort of faith. Although I concede the importance of maintaining an optimistic aspect in front of the soldiers.”

  Was I going to argue? No. He was more right than I could be.

  “So, Standardbearer, how do we survive a protracted siege when most of our food stores are exhausted? How do we recover the standard once we do get out of these straits?”

  “I don’t have any answers. Although I think the standard is in friendly hands already.” Why was he interested? Almost every time we talked he asked something about the standard. Did he believe possessing it would legitimize him?

  “How so?” He was surprised.

  “The Widowmaker that was here the first time carried the real standard.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I know it,” I promised.

  “Then share your thoughts about food.”

  “We could try fishing.”

  Wisecracking was not a good idea with Mogaba. It just made Mogaba angry.

  “Ain’t no joke,” Goblin snapped. “That water comes down here from regular rivers. There’s got to be fish.”

  The little shit wasn’t as stupid as he acted sometimes.

  Mogaba frowned. “Do we have anyone who knows anything about fishing?” he asked Sindawe.

  “I doubt it.” They meant among their Taglian soldiers, of course. Nar are warriors, back for a dozen generations. They do not sully themselves doing unheroic work.

  I was negligent. I failed to mention that the Nyueng Bao came from country where fishing was, probably, a way of life.

  “It’s a thought,” Mogaba told me. “And there is always baked crow.” He glanced back at the window. “But most Taglians won’t eat flesh.”

  “A conundrum,” I agreed.

  “I will not surrender.”

  No reply seemed adequate.

  “You have no resources either?”

  “Less than you,” I lied. We still had a little rice from the catacombs. But not much. We were stretching ourselves every way possible, in accordance with hints recorded in the Annals. We did not look like famine victims. Not quite yet.

  We looked, I noted, less well fed than did the Nar.

  “Suggestions for reducing the number of unproductive mouths?”

  “I’m letting my worn-out Taglians and any locals who want build rafts and go. But I don’t let them take anything with them.”

  He controlled his anger again. “That does consume valuable timber. But it is another thought worth consideration.”

  I studied Sindawe and Ochiba. They remained jet statues. They were not even breathing, it seemed. They expressed no opinions.

  Mogaba glared at me. “I feared this meeting would be this nonproductive. You haven’t even thrown the Annals in my face.”

  “The Annals aren’t magic. What they say about sieges is plain common-sense stuff. Be stubborn. Ration. Don’t support the nonproductive. Control the spread of plague. Don’t exhaust your enemy’s patience if there is no hope of outlasting him. If surrender is inevitable do it while your enemy is still amenable to terms.”

  “This enemy never offered.”

  I wondered about that, although the Shadowmasters did have a tendency to think like gods.

  “Thank you, Standardbearer. We will examine our options and keep you informed of what we mean to do.”

  Goblin and One-Eye helped me ease my chair back. They settled me into the litter. Mogaba said nothing else and I could think of nothing I wanted to tell him. The other Nar just stood there awkwardly and watched us go.

  * * *

  “What was that in aid of?” I asked once we were clear. “I expected yelling and threats.”

  “He wanted to pick your brains,” Goblin said.

  “While he made up his mind if he was going to kill you,” One-Eye added cheerfully.

  “Oh, that’s real encouraging.”

  “He did decide, Murgen. And he didn’t pick the option you want to hear. It’s time to start being real careful.”

  We did make it home unharmed.

  64

  “Don’t bother dragging me up there till we find out what Uncle wants.” Goblin and One-Eye were at the foot of steps leading to the battlements. Doj was up top, looking down.

  “I wasn’t planning to carry your dead ass anywhere anyhow anymore,” One-Eye told me. “Far as I’m concerned this exercise was for camouflage.”

  Uncle Doj started downward.

  I stared at the wall. Tiny beads of sweat covered it, but that was because the stone was cooler than the air, not because water had begun seeping through from outside.

  The Shadowmasters were good builders.

  “Stone Soldier. You are well?”

  “Not bad for a guy with the runs. Ready to dance on your grave, Stubby. We got business?”

  “The Speaker wishes to see you. Your excursion was not successful?” He moved his head to indicate my trip outside.

  “If you call spending two weeks as a guest of the Shadowmaster a success I tore them up, Uncle. Otherwise, all I did was get sick, lose some weight, then have barely enough sense left to run for it when some Taglians hit Shadowspinner’s camp with a nuisance raid. That’s all right. I can walk that far.” Just don’t let me fall down any rabbit holes.

  I could walk to the Speaker’s place easily but why give up the pretense of weakness if it might be useful?

  Nothing changed with the Speaker’s crew. Except that this time one smell was absent. I noticed that as soon as I stepped inside. I could not identify the missing odor, though.

  The Speaker was ready. Hong Tray was in place. The beautiful one had tea brewing.

  Ky Dam smiled. “Thai Dei ran ahead.” He read my curiosity from my glance and flaring nostrils. “Danh has gone to h
is judgment. At last. A bleak season has ended for this house.”

  I could not help myself. I looked at the young woman. I found her looking at me. Her gaze shifted immediately, but not so fast that I did not feel guilty when I returned attention to the Speaker.

  The old man missed nothing. Neither did he get excited about something best left ignored. He was wise, was Ky Dam.

  I had come to respect that frail oldster a lot.

  “The hard times have come, Standardbearer, and will lead to more terrible tomorrows.” He reviewed my discussion with Mogaba well enough to convince me that someone had watched us.

  “Why tell me this?”

  “To support my claim when I tell you we spy on the black men. After your departure they spoke only their native tongue until they sent messengers to the tribunes of the cohorts and other senior Taglians. They are to gather at suppertime.”

  “Sounds big.”

  The old man bowed slightly. “I would like you to see something for yourself. You know these men more certainly than do I. You can determine if my suspicions are well-founded.”

  “You want me to spy on that meeting?”

  “Something of the sort.” The old man did not tell me the whole story. Not then. He wanted me walking into it cold. “Doj will conduct you.”

  65

  Doj conducted me. The way led through cellars as intricately connected as ours but less care had been used in the tunneling. The people who did this just wanted to be able to sneak away. They had had no intention of hiding. They must have been Jaicuri collaborators in Stormshadow’s administration, acting for her. She would have wanted an emergency exit.

  “I’m surprised at you,” I told Uncle Doj. “I wouldn’t think underground would occur to swamp people. I don’t suppose there are a lot of tunnels in the delta.”

  “Not many.” He smiled.

  My guess is they found the escape route through sheer blind luck, maybe coupled with an informed suspicion about how Stormshadow’s mind worked.

  Getting into the citadel, then, was no problem, though it required some crawling. The architects had not been concerned with Stormshadow’s dignity. It was tough for me. I was not yet back to my best.

  We came to a small open space beneath a ladder. That rose straight up into infinity, so far as I could see by the light of one feeble candle. I had a feeling the candle was a luxury laid on for me, that the Nyueng Bao made this journey entirely in darkness.

  I could not have endured that. I dislike enclosed places intensely despite having lived in them. Close places, darkness, recurring spells and visions were not a combination I wanted to tempt.

  I did seem more stable lately, I reflected.

  I set a hand and foot on the ladder.

  Uncle Doj grabbed my wrist, shook his head.

  “What? Isn’t that the way to the council chamber?” My whisper rattled off like the scurry of mice.

  “Not what the Speaker wants you to see.” Doj used almost no air when he whispered. “Come.”

  There was no crawling now, just a lot of easing along sideways in an airspace almost too narrow for Uncle. His belly was going to ache from rubbing against stone.

  I learned that there was a lot more to Stormshadow’s citadel than I had seen in the little time I spent there these past few months. Down below there, beneath the surrounding plazas, were countless unsuspected storerooms and prison cells, armories and barracks rooms, cisterns and smithies. I whispered, “They have supplies down here to hold out for years.” Meaning the Nar and their favorites, holed up inside the citadel. Stormshadow had laid in a great store against the evil day.

  Mogaba had lied to me, just trying to find out how well off we Old Crew were.

  Was that what the old man wanted me to know?

  Was this why the Nyueng Bao had seemed to prosper while everyone else became gaunt? Were they nibbling at these stores like mice, taking just a little here and there so their predations would go unnoticed?

  Uncle Doj beckoned. “Hurry.”

  Soon I began to hear a distant chanting. “We may not be in time, Bone Warrior. Hurry.”

  I didn’t slug him mostly because the racket would have alerted the singing men.

  I knew they were Nar before I saw a thing. I had heard the rhythms and style before, though not these particular lyrics. Always before, though, there had been joy in their work songs and celebrations. This song was cold and grim.

  Uncle Doj left the candle, tugged my elbow. We continued to step sideways until, suddenly, we were in an ordinary passageway, not some tight, secret squeeze behind a wall. Nothing concealed the entrance to the hidden ways. That was just a shadowed corner unlikely to entice a closer look.

  There was light out there, from candles in sconces widely spaced. The people in charge were frugal despite their wealth.

  Uncle Doj placed a finger to his lips. We were near dangerous people who might detect us in an instant. He dropped to his knees and led me right into a large chamber where most of the Nar had gathered. Lighting was nonexistent except down where they were. Doj got behind a pillar. I squatted behind a low, dusty table just inside the doorway. I wished I was as dark as the Nar. My forehead must be shining like a little half moon.

  This life hardens you. Too soon you have seen so much that when you encounter another something terrible you don’t howl and run in circles, snapping at your tail. But most of us still appreciate horror if horror is there.

  Horror was there.

  There was an altar. Mogaba and Ochiba were involved in something ceremonial. Above the altar stood a small statue of dark stone, a four-armed woman dancing. I was too far away to make out details but I was pretty sure sure she had vampire fangs and six teats. She might be wearing a necklace of baby skulls. The Nar might give her another name but she was Kina. The worship offered by the Nar was not that described in the Jaicuri scriptures, though.

  The Deceivers do not want to spill blood. That is why they are called Stranglers.

  The Nar not only spilled blood on behalf of their goddess, they drank it. And it looked like they had been doing so for some time down there. Drained corpses hung to one side. Their latest sacrifice, a hapless Jaicuri, got hoisted up with those soon after I arrived.

  The Nar were practical in their religion. After the grim ceremony ended they began butchering one of the bodies.

  I got down and crawled out of there. I did not give one rat’s ass what Uncle Doj thought.

  I have seen a lot with the Company, including tortures and cruelties almost beyond comprehension and inhumanities I do not have the capacity to fathom, but never had I encountered socially-sanctioned cannibalism.

  I did not puke or boil over in outrage. That would be silly. I just put distance between me and that till I could speak without worrying about who might overhear. “I have seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”

  Uncle Doj responded with a thin smile and lifted eyebrow.

  “I have to relay this. I have to write it down. We may not survive this siege. They will. Word of what they are has to survive, too.” He watched me closely. Was he wondering if the rest of us also enjoyed the occasional long-pig roast as well?

  Probably.

  This sort of thing might go some toward explaining our ambiguous reception in these parts.

  Mogaba could not read. If it did not occur to him that the dark side of the Nar was no secret anymore I could leave word in my Annals, to be salvaged by Lady or the Old Man.

  “They are all down there,” Uncle said. “So we will return by a swifter path.” By which he meant we would stroll through regular passageways just like we belonged there.

  “What’s that noise?” I asked.

  Uncle gestured for silence. We stole forward.

  We discovered a group of Taglian soldiers bricking up a sallyport we could have used to leave. Why were they doing that? That door could not be broken open from the outside. It still had Stormshadow’s spells protecting it.

  Uncle pulled me back, hea
ded another direction. Obviously, he knew the citadel quite well. And I had no difficulty imagining him roaming around in there all the time, just for the hell of it. He seemed like that kind of guy.

  66

  “You look like somebody ate your favorite puppy,” Goblin told me. Cracks like that could be heard all the time now that there were no more dogs. There were just two sources of meat left. The Nar exploited both. We restricted ourselves to stupid crows.

  I told Goblin and One-Eye what I had seen. Uncle Doj stood behind me, quietly disgruntled because I wanted to see my own people before I visited the Speaker. I was barely halfway through it when One-Eye interrupted. “You got to tell the whole Company this one, Kid.” For once he was as serious as a spear through the gut.

  And for once Goblin agreed with One-Eye without any big groan and moan about the unfairness of it all. “You need to get this word out exactly the way you want it known to everybody. There’s going to be a lot of talk. You don’t want anybody building it up worse than it is when they pass it along.”

  “Get them together, then. While I’m waiting I’m going to skim those Jaicuri books. There may be something else I need to tell them.”

  “May I join you?” Uncle Doj asked.

  “No. Go tell the old man that I’ll be there as soon as I can. This is family.”

  “As you will.” He said something to Thai Dei, stalked away.

  * * *

  Bucket interrupted my reading. “Got them together, Murgen. All but Clete. He’s off somewhere whoring and even his brothers don’t know where to find him.”

  “All right.”

  “It something bad? You got that look.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It can get worse than it already is?”

  “You’re going to hear all about it in just a little bit.”

  In five minutes I got up in front of sixty men and told my tale, marvelling as I did that a band so frail and few could be so feared. More, I marvelled that there were so many of us when, hardly more than two years ago, there were just seven of us pretending to be the Black Company.

  “You guys want to keep it down until I’m done?” The news had them excited in a grim way. “Listen up. That is the word. They’re making human sacrifices and eating the corpses. But that ain’t the whole story. Ever since they joined us at Gea-Xle they’ve been hinting and even saying right out that us northern guys are heretics. That means they think the whole Company used to do things their way.”