The Books of the South: Tales of the Black Company (Chronicles of the Black Company)

by Glen Cook

  “My conscience permits me to say no more. Even so, I feel like a traitor. He sent me because we’ve been like brothers since we were boys. I’m the only man left he trusts. I don’t want to hurt him. But he’s hurt us. He’s blackened our honor and our oaths as guardians.”

  Sindawe’s “guardians” was a Nar word for which there was no exact translation. It carried implications of an obligation to defend the weak and stand firm in the face of evil.

  “I hear he’s trying to stir up a religious crusade.”

  Sindawe seemed embarrassed. “Yes. From the beginning some have clung to the Dark Mother. I didn’t realize he was one of them—though I should have guessed. His ancestors were priests.”

  “What’s he going to do now? I can’t see him getting excited about me turning up.”

  “I don’t know. I’m afraid he’ll claim you’re not you. He may even believe you’re a trick of the Shadowmasters. A lot of men thought they saw you killed. Even your standardbearer.”

  “A lot of men saw me hit. If anyone questioned Murgen closely they know I was alive when he left me.”

  Sindawe nodded. “I remain on the horns.”

  Croaker did not ask what would happen if he tried to eliminate Mogaba. The Nar would fight, Sindawe included. That was not his style, anyway. He did not eliminate a man because he was a nuisance.

  “I’ll come over and confront him, then. He’ll either accept me or he won’t. It’ll be interesting seeing where the Nar stand if he chooses mutiny.”

  “You’ll exact the penalty?”

  “I won’t kill him. I respect him. He’s a great soldier. Maybe he can continue to be a great soldier. Maybe not. If not, he’ll have to give up his part in our quest.”

  Sindawe smiled. “You’re a wise man, Captain. I’ll go tell him. And everyone else. I’ll pray the gods remind him of his oaths and honor.”

  “Fine. Don’t dawdle. Since I don’t want anything to do with this I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

  “Eh?”

  “If I put off doing something unpleasant I never get around to dealing with it. Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

  70

  Longshadow consulted the shadows he had left in the cell with the missing woman. Then he visited the bedridden Howler. “You idiot. You grabbed the wrong woman.”

  Howler did not respond.

  “That was Soulcatcher.” Her. And whole. How had she managed that?

  In a voice little more than a whisper, Howler reminded, “You sent me there. You insisted Senjak was in Taglios.”

  And what did that have to do with the result? “You couldn’t scout the situation well enough to find out we’d been deceived?”

  Contempt, poorly veiled, flashed across Howler’s face. He did not argue. There was no point. Longshadow never made a mistake. Whatever dismayed him, it was always another’s fault.

  Longshadow pitched a tantrum. Then he went coldly calm. “Error, no error, fault, no fault, the fact is we’ve made an enemy. She won’t bear it. She was just playing with her sister before. Now she won’t be playing.”

  Howler smiled. He and Soulcatcher were not beloved of one another. He rasped out, “She’s walking.”

  Longshadow grunted. “Yes. There is that. She’s in my territories. Afoot.” He paced. “She’ll hide from my shadow eyes. But she’ll want to watch the rest of the world. I won’t look for her, then. I’ll look for her spies. The crows will lead me to her. And then I shall test us both.”

  Howler caught the timbre of daring in Longshadow’s voice. He was going to try something dangerous.

  Disasters had knocked the daring out of Howler. His inclinations were toward the quiet and safe. That was why he had chosen to build his own empire in the swamps. They had been enough. And nothing anyone wanted to take away. But he had succumbed to seduction when Longshadow’s emissaries had come to him. So here he was easing back from the brink of death, alive only because Longshadow still thought him useful. He was not interested in more risks. He would return to his sloughs and mangroves happily. But till he fashioned some means of flight he would have to pretend interest in Longshadow’s plans. “Nothing dangerous,” he whispered.

  “Not at all,” Longshadow lied. “Once I find out where she is the rest is easy.”

  71

  Volunteers willing to cross the lake with Croaker were few. He accepted Swan and Sindhu, rejected Blade and Mather. “You two have plenty to do here.”

  Three of them in a boat. Croaker rowed. The others did not know how. Sindhu sat in the stern, Swan in the bow. Croaker did not want the wide man behind him. That might not be wise. The man had a sinister air and did not act friendly. He was biding his time while he made up his mind about something. Croaker did not want to be looking the wrong way when that happened.

  Halfway across Swan asked, “It serious between you and Lady?” He chose Rosean, the language of his youth. Croaker spoke the tongue, though he had not used it for years.

  “It is on my side. I can’t say for her. Why?”

  “I don’t want to stick my hand in where I’m going to get it bit off.”

  “I don’t bite. And I don’t tell her what to do.”

  “Yeah. It was nice to dream about. I figure she’ll forget I’m alive as soon as she hears you still are.”

  Croaker smiled, pleased. “Can you tell me anything about this human stump back here? I don’t like his looks.”

  Swan talked for the rest of their passage, evolving complex circumlocutions to get around non-Rosean words Sindhu would recognize.

  “Worse than I thought,” Croaker said as the boat reached the city wall where part had collapsed and left a gap through which the lake poked a finger. Swan tossed the painter to a Taglian soldier who looked like he had not eaten for a week. He left the boat. Croaker followed. Sindhu followed him. Croaker noted that Swan placed himself so he could watch Sindhu. The soldier tied the boat up, beckoned. They followed him.

  He led them to the top of the west wall, which was wide and unbroken. Croaker stared at the city. It was nothing like it had been. It had become a thousand drunken islands. A big island marked its heart: the citadel, where they had dispatched Stormshadow and Shapeshifter. The nearer islands sprouted spectators. He recognized faces, waved.

  Ragged at first, beginning with the surviving non-Nar he had brought to Taglios, a cheer spread rapidly. The Taglian troops raised their “Liberator!” hail. Swan said, “I think they’re glad to see you.”

  “From the looks of the place they’d cheer anybody who might get them out.”

  Streets had become deep canals. The survivors had adapted by building rafts. Croaker doubted anyone travelled much, though. The canals were choked with corpses. The smell of death was oppressive. Plague and a madman tormented the city and there was nowhere to dispose of bodies.

  Mogaba and his Nar came marching around the curve of the wall, clad in all their finery. “Here we go,” Croaker said. The cheering continued. One raft, almost awash under the weight of old comrades, began laboring toward the wall.

  Mogaba halted forty feet away. He stared, his face and eyes smoldering ice. “Say me a prayer, Swan.” Croaker moved to meet the man who wanted so badly to be his successor. He wondered if he would have to play this out again with Lady. Assuming he survived this round.

  Mogaba moved to meet him, taking stride for stride. They stopped a yard apart. “You’ve done wonders with nothing,” Croaker said. He rested his right hand upon Mogaba’s left shoulder.

  Sudden silence gripped the city. Ten thousand eyes watched, native and soldier alike, knowing how much hung on Mogaba’s response to that gesture of comradery.

  Croaker waited quietly. It was a time when almost anything said would be too much said. Nothing needed to be discussed or explained. Everything hinged on Mogaba’s reaction. If he reciprocated, all was well. If not …

  The men looked one another in the eye. Hot fires burned within Mogaba. Nothing showed on his face but Croaker sensed the battle w
ithin him, his ambition against a lifetime of training and the obvious will of the soldiers. Their cheers made their sentiments clear.

  Mogaba’s struggle went on. Twice his right hand rose, fell back. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, then bit down on ambition’s tongue.

  Croaker broke eye contact long enough to examine the Nar. He tried to send an appeal, Help your chieftain.

  Sindawe understood. He fought his own conscience a moment, started walking. He passed the two, joined the old members of the Company forming up behind Croaker. One by one, a dozen Nar followed.

  Mogaba’s hand started up a third time. Men held their breaths. Then Mogaba looked at his feet. “I can’t, Captain. There is a shadow within me. I can’t. Kill me.”

  “And I can’t do that. I promised your men I wouldn’t harm you no matter your choice.”

  “Kill me, Captain. Before this thing in me turns to hatred.”

  “I couldn’t even if I hadn’t promised.”

  “I’ll never understand you.” Mogaba’s hand fell. “You’re strong enough to come face me when for all you knew you’d be killed. But you’re not strong enough to save the trouble sparing me will cost.”

  “I can’t snuff the light I sense in you. It may yet become the light of greatness.”

  “Not a light, Captain. A wind out of nowhere, born in darkness. For both our sakes I hope I’m wrong, but I fear you’ll regret your mercy.” Mogaba took a step backward. Croaker’s arm fell. Everyone watching sighed, dismayed, though they had had little hope of rapprochement. Mogaba saluted, wheeled, marched away followed by three Nar who had not crossed over with Sindawe.

  “Hey!” Swan yelled a moment later, breaking the silence. “Them bastards is stealing our boat!”

  “Let them go.” Croaker faced friends he had not seen for months. “From the Book of Cloete: ‘In those days the Company was in service to the Syndarchs of Dai Khomena, and they were delivered…’” His friends all grinned and roared approval. He grinned back. “Hey! We’ve got work to do here. We’ve got a city to evacuate. Let’s hit it.”

  From one eye he watched the boat cross the lake, from the other he kept watch on Sindhu.

  It felt good to be back.

  * * *

  Thus was Dejagore delivered and the true Company set free.

  72

  The Howler perched atop a tall stool, out of the way while Longshadow prepared. He was impressed by the array of mystical and thaumaturgic gewgaws Longshadow had assembled during one short generation. Such had remained scarce while they had been in thrall to the Lady and nonexistent under the rule of her husband before her. They had wanted no one getting independent. Howler had very little though he was free now. He had little need to possess.

  Not so Longshadow. He wanted to own at least one of everything. He wanted to own the world.

  Not much of Longshadow’s collection was in use now. Not much would be ever, Howler suspected. Most had been gathered mainly to keep anyone else from having it. That was the way Longshadow thought.

  The room was brightly lighted, partly because it was approaching noon beyond the crystal walls, partly because Longshadow had packed a score of brilliant light sources into the room, no two of which used the same fuel. Against an ambush of shadows he left no precaution untaken.

  He would not admit it but he was terrified.

  Longshadow checked the altitude of the sun. “Noon coming up. Time to start.”

  “Why now?”

  “They’re least active under a noonday sun.”

  “Oh.” Howler did not approve. Longshadow meant to catch one of the hungry big ones to train and send after Soulcatcher. Howler thought that a stupid plan. He thought it unnecessary and overly complicated. They knew where she was. It made more sense just to hit her with more soldiers than she could handle. But Longshadow wanted drama.

  This was too risky. He could loose something nothing in this world could control. He did not want to be part of this but Longshadow left him no choice. Longshadow was a master of leaving one no choice.

  Several hundred men climbed the old road to the plain, dragging a closed black wagon ordinarily drawn by elephants. But no animal would go near the shadowtraps, however much it was beaten. Only Longshadow’s men feared him more than they feared what might befall them up there. Longshadow was the devil they knew.

  Those men backed the wagon against the main shadowtrap.

  Longshadow said, “Now we begin.” He giggled. “And tonight, in the witching hour, your old comrade will cease to be a threat to anyone.”

  Howler was skeptical.

  73

  Soulcatcher sat in the middle of a field, disguised as a stump. Crows circled, their shadows scooting over wheat stubble. An unknown city loomed in the distance.

  The imp Frogface materialized. “They’re up to something.”

  “I’ve known that since they started blocking the crows. What they’re up to is what I want to know.”

  The imp grinned, described what he had seen.

  “Either they’ve forgotten to take you into account or they’re counting on you feeding me incorrect information.” She started moving toward the city. “But if they wanted to feed me false information they would confuse the crows, too. Wouldn’t they?”

  The imp said nothing. No answer was expected.

  “Why do this during the daytime?”

  “Longshadow is scared to death of what might break out if he tried during the night.”

  “Ah. Yes. But they won’t move till nightfall. They’ll want their sending at full strength.”

  Frogface muttered something about just how much did he have to do to earn his freedom?

  Soulcatcher laughed, a merry little girl’s laugh. “Tonight, I think, you’ll have done with me. If you can do a creditable illusion of me.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s have a look around this city first. What’s its name?”

  “Dhar. New Dhar, really. Old Dhar was levelled by the Shadowmasters for resisting too strongly back when they first conquered this country.”

  “Interesting. What do they think of the Shadowmasters?”

  “Not much.”

  “And a new generation is at hand. This could be amusing.”

  * * *

  When darkness fell the great public square at the heart of New Dhar was strangely empty and silent, except for the cawing and fluttering of crows. All who approached developed chills and dreads and decided to come another time.

  A woman sat on the edge of a fountain, paddling her fingers through the water. Crows swarmed around her, coming and going. From the shadows at the square’s edge another figure watched. This one seemed to be a gnarled old crone, folded up against a wall, her rags clutched tightly against the evening cool. Both women seemed content to stay where they were indefinitely.

  They were patient, those two.

  Patience was rewarded.

  The shadow came at midnight, a big, dreadful thing, a terrible juggernaut of darkness that could be sensed while still miles away. Even the untalented of New Dhar felt it. Children cried. Mothers shushed them. Fathers barred their doors and looked for places to hide their babies and wives.

  The shadow roared into the city and swept toward the square. Crows squawked and dipped around it. It bore straight down on the woman at the fountain, dreadful and implacable.

  The woman laughed at it. And vanished as it sprang upon her.

  Crows mocked.

  The woman laughed from the far side of the square.

  The shadow surged, struck. But the woman was not there. She laughed from behind it.

  Frogface, pretending to be Soulcatcher, led the shadow around the city for an hour, took it into places where it would destroy and kill and be recognized and fire hatreds long and carefully banked. The shadow was tireless and persistent but not very bright. It just kept coming, indifferent to what effect it had on the population, waiting for its quarry to make a mistake.

  The crone on the edge
of the square rose slowly, hobbled to the palace of Longshadow’s local governor, entered past soldiers and sentries apparently blind. She hobbled down to the strongroom where the governor stored the treasures he wrested from the peoples in his charge, opened a massive door none but the governor supposedly could open. Once inside she became not a crone but Soulcatcher in a merry mood.

  She had studied the shadow carefully while Frogface led it about. That shadow had to travel all the distance between two points. Frogface did not. He could stay ahead forever as long as he remained alert.

  Her studies had shown her how she might contain it.

  She spent an hour preparing the vault so it would keep the shadow in, then another arranging a peck of little spells that should distract it so that, by the time someone released it, it would have forgotten why it had come to New Dhar.

  She stepped outside, closed the door till it stood open only a crack, arranged an illusion that made her look like one of the governor’s soldiers. Then she sent a thought spinning toward Frogface.

  The imp came prancing, enjoying himself, taunting his hunter into the trap. Soulcatcher shoved the door shut behind it, sealed it up. Frogface popped into existence beside her, grinning. “That was almost fun. If I didn’t have business in my own world I’d almost want to hang around another hundred years. Never a dull moment with you.”

  “Is that a hint?”

  “You bet it is, sweetie. I’m going to miss you all, you and the Captain and all your friends. Maybe I’ll come back and visit. But I got business elsewhere.”

  Soulcatcher giggled her little girl’s giggle. “All right. Stay with me till I’m out of the city. Then you’re free to go. Wow! I bet this place blows up! I wish I could see Longshadow’s face when he gets the news.” She laughed. “He isn’t half as bright as he thinks. You have any friends over there who might want to work for me?”

  “Maybe one or two with the right sense of mischief. I’ll see.”