The Return of the Black Company

by Glen Cook

  No matter now. Blade took Sindhu and I away from our guards. “Standardbearer, you stink.”

  “Call out the ladies in waiting. Let them give me a bath.” I could not remember my last bath. In Dejagore we did not waste water on trivialities.

  Of course, now we could bathe all we wanted—although the water would be unclean.

  Blade obtained fresh clothing by the expedient of robbing some southern officers, had us clean up and visit the inadequate field physicians Croaker had tried to train for the Taglian forces. They knew less about stopping the drizzling shits than I did.

  It was daylight when Lady saw me. She already knew the prisoners were deserters from the city. She was blunt. “Why did you run out, Murgen?”

  “I didn’t. We decided somebody had to come find you. I lost the election.… Uh.” She was in a bleak mood, apparently pretty sick herself. Never mind the humor, Murgen. “One-Eye and Goblin figured I was the only trustworthy guy who had any chance of getting through. They couldn’t leave. I didn’t make it, though.”

  “Why did you feel the need to send someone?”

  “Mogaba elected himself god. With the water around us, keeping the southerners back, he doesn’t need to get along with anybody who doesn’t agree.”

  Sindhu said, “The black men believe they serve the goddess, mistress. But their heresies are grotesque. They have become worse than unbelievers.”

  I pricked up my ears. Maybe I would learn something about Sindhu’s bunch. I had bones to pick with them. I had not yet found any evidence to suggest that it was not them who kidnapped me and took a crack at murdering Mogaba.

  Still, I could not imagine why they would bother.

  Sindhu and Lady talked. Her questions sounded vaguely doctrinal. Sindhu’s replies made no sense.

  Once Lady interrupted the interview to be sick. A skinny little gink named Narayan, who kept hanging around, seemed inordinately pleased. I noted that Sindhu showed him considerable deference.

  I was not happy. The little I knew of their cult assured me that I did not want them influencing my captains.

  The interview ended. Blade’s cronies took me away. I got to hang out with Swan and Mather, meaning I had somebody to speak a reasonable language with for a while, but soon I felt like a forgotten man.

  “What are we doing?” I asked Swan.

  “I don’t know. Cordy and I just tag along behind Her Lordship pretending not to be watching her for the Prabrindrah Drah and Radisha.”

  “Pretending?”

  “Ain’t much good being a spy if everybody knows it, is there? Anyway, Cordy gets to do all the worrying. He’s the one playing pattycake with the Woman.”

  “You mean that ain’t just a vicious rumor? He’s really plooking the Radisha?”

  “Hard to believe, ain’t it? She’s got a face like … Hey! Cordy! Where’s them cards? We got us a pigeon here thinks he can play tonk.”

  “Thinks? Swan, you’re gonna think I invented the game if you get into it with me.”

  Mather was a nondescript character of average height with ginger hair who stood out only because he was white in a land where nobody but harem girls, kept out of the sun from birth, had fair skin. He asked, “Willow’s mouth running away with him again?”

  “Maybe. I’ve made a career of playing tonk. Hell, they boot you out of the Black Company if you don’t make journeyman player.”

  Mather shrugged. “Then you’ll twist Willow’s head back around straight for him. Here. Deal. I’ll see if the mighty general Blade wants to sit in.”

  Swan grumbled, “That would take him out of sight of Lady.” Sounded like some sour grapes there. Mather showed him a smirk that confirmed my guess.

  “What is it about her?” I asked. “Every damned guy that walks on his hind legs gets near her for five minutes, he starts floating around with his tongue hanging down, banging into things. But I’ve been around her for years. I can see she’s got the right stuff in the right places put together about as good as you could want but I don’t think I could get excited even if she didn’t used to be the Lady and she wasn’t married to the Old Man.” Not that that was literally true. They had not even bothered to jump over a sword.

  Swan shuffled. “Cut?”

  I cut. I always cut. One-Eye taught me that.

  Swan asked, “You really don’t feel it? Man, she comes around me and my brain goes south. And she’s a widow now, so…”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What?”

  “She ain’t no widow. Croaker is still alive.”

  “Shit. That’d be my luck, too. You want to stack Cordy a hand, make him think he’s got a winner, then skunk him?” As soon as I shook my head he wanted to know how come I thought Croaker was alive. I evaded a definitive answer for the few moments it took Mather to return.

  “Blade’s too busy looking for an angle to use while he’s close to the magic. You load me up again, Willow? No? Bullshit. Let’s just pick them up and deal them over.”

  “Ain’t this the story of my life?” I grumbled. “Look here.” I had two aces, a pair of deuces and a trey. An automatic winner, damned near couldn’t be beat. “And that’s a true natural, no help.”

  Swan snickered. “Don’t matter. You don’t got anything to do anyway.”

  “You got a point. Why don’t you guys come over to Dejagore? I’ll buy you a mug of One-Eye’s home brew.”

  “Ha! Competition, huh?” Swan and Mather had gone into the brewing business back when they first came to Taglios. They were out of the racket now, among their reasons the fact that the priests of all the native religions condemned the use of alcohol.

  “I doubt it. The only thing good about their brew is it gets you skunked.”

  “That was the only good thing about the rat piss we made,” Mather said. “My dear old daddy the brewmaster rolled over every time we tapped another keg.”

  “We never laid any beer up,” Swan countered. “Soon as it was ripe we skimmed the scum off and poured it down Taglian throats. And don’t buy that shit about his daddy, neither. Old Man Mather was a tax assessor who was so dumb he didn’t take bribes.”

  “Shut up and deal.” Mather snatched up his cards. “He did brew his own beer. And Swan’s old man was a hod carrier.”

  “But a handsome one, Cordy. And a lover. I inherited his good looks.”

  “You take after your mother. And if you don’t do something about that hair pretty soon you’re going to wind up in somebody’s harem.”

  This was a side of these guys I had not seen before. But I had not spent much time loafing with them. They were not Company. I kept my mouth shut and concentrated on my cards and let them tell me about who they used to be before the wander-dust settled on their shoes and set them roving against all odds.

  “What about you, Murgen?” Swan asked after he noticed that I was winning more than my share of hands. “Where did you come from?”

  I told them about growing up on a farm. There wasn’t anything exciting about my life until I decided that farming wasn’t what I wanted to do. I joined one of Lady’s armies, found out I didn’t like the way things were done there, deserted and joined up with the Black Company, which was the only place I could hide with the provost after me.

  Mather asked, “You ever regret leaving home?”

  “Every goddamned day, Mather. Every goddamned day. It was boring raising potatoes but not one time did I ever have a spud try to stick a knife in me. I was hardly ever hungry and almost never cold and the landlord was all right. He made sure his tenants had enough before he took his share. He didn’t live much better than we did. Oh, and the only magic we ever saw was the kind your wandering conjurers perform at town fairs.”

  “So why not go home?”

  “Can’t.”

  “If you’re careful and don’t look prosperous and don’t go around pissing people off you can travel almost anywhere safely. We did.”

  “I can’t go home because home ain’t there no mo
re. A Rebel army came through a couple years after I left.” The Company passed through later still, marching from somewhere unpleasant to somewhere where we would be unhappy. The whole country had been turned desert in the name of freedom from the tyranny of the Lady’s empire.

  61

  Lady sent for me after six days. I had shaken the runs and had eaten well enough to regain a few of the pounds I lost in the pen. I still looked like a refugee from hell. And I was. I was indeed.

  Lady did not look good. Tired, pale, under severe pressure, apparently still fighting the sickness that had her puking the other day. She wasted no time on small talk. “I’m sending you back to Dejagore, Murgen. We’re getting disturbing reports about Mogaba.”

  I nodded. I had heard some of them. Every night more rafts crossed the lake. The deserters and refugees always were astonished to learn that Shadowspinner was dead and Lady controlled his army—though that was evaporating through desertion, too.

  Lady was a hard one. My guess was she meant to let the problem posed by Mogaba solve itself—despite what that would cost Taglios and the Black Company.

  “Why?” That was not smart. All those Taglians in there had relatives back home. Many were people of place and substance, for it was that sort who had volunteered to defend Taglios.

  “I need you to just go back and be yourself. But write things down. Hone your skills. Keep the Company together. Be prepared for anything.”

  I grunted. That wasn’t something I wanted to hear, knowing that the siege could be ended right now.

  Lady sensed my reservations. She smiled wanly, made a sudden gesture. “Sleep, Murgen.”

  I collapsed on the spot.

  She was her nasty old self.

  * * *

  My mind would not clear. The Taglians who had helped me leave Dejagore were like zombies. They did not talk and seemed almost blind. “Down!” I muttered. “Patrol coming.” They did what I said but like men heavily drugged.

  Patrols were few by day. It was easy to elude them. It was not their mission to keep people out, anyway. We reached lakeside without any trouble.

  “Rest,” I ordered. “Wait for dark.” I was not sure why we had crossed the hills by day. I did not recall starting. “Have I been acting real weird?” I asked.

  The taller Taglian shook his head slowly, not quite sure. He was more confused than I was.

  I said, “I feel like I walked out of a fog a couple hours ago. I remember getting captured. I remember them keeping us in a nasty pen. I know there was a fight or something. But I don’t remember how we got away.”

  “Nor do I, sir,” the shorter soldier said. “I do have a very strong feeling that we need to get back to our comrades quickly. But I don’t know why.”

  “How about you?”

  The taller man nodded, frowning. He was going to bust a vein trying to remember.

  I said, “Maybe Shadowspinner did something to us and let us go. That’s worth keeping in mind—especially if you have urges that really surprise you.”

  After dark we stole along the shoreline till we found a raft, jumped aboard and headed for Dejagore. And discovered immediately that we were going to get nowhere using poles. The water was too deep. We ended up using poles and broken boards as inefficient paddles. It took us half the night to make the crossing. And then, naturally, everything went to hell.

  One-Eye was on watch and had been passing the time making love to a keg of beer. He heard water splash and people ask for a hand up and concluded that the evil hordes were upon him, whereupon he flung fireballs hither and yon so any handy archers could plink us.

  One-Eye recognized me before more than three or four arrows whizzed past. He yelled for a ceasefire. But the damage had been done. The Nar at the North Gate saw us.

  We were far enough away that they should not recognize faces. But the possibility that the Old Crew might have outside contacts would get Mogaba’s interest.

  “Hey, Kid, good to see you,” One-Eye said as I clambered to the top of the wall. “We thought you was dead. We was going to have a funeral in a few more days if we got time. I been stalling it, account of if you was officially dead then I’d have to start keeping the Annals.” Generously, he offered me a drink from his very own unwashed for a fortnight mug. I declined the honor. “You all right, Kid?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me.” I told him what I could remember.

  “You have another spell?”

  “If I did these guys had it with me.”

  “Interesting. Come around and see me about it tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’m gonna be off watch in ten minutes and I intend to hit the sack. And you need some sleep yourself.”

  My pal. Don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have One-Eye to worry about me.

  62

  Bucket wakened me. “One of Mogaba’s guys is here, Murgen. Says His Majesty wants to see you.”

  I groaned. “Does it have to be so bright out there?” I had not bothered to go down into the warrens.

  “He’s pissed off. We’ve been pretending you were here but couldn’t talk to him. Goblin and One-Eye put doubles of you on the wall sometimes so the Nar could see you.”

  “And now you have the real Murgen back you want to throw him to the wolf.”

  “Uh … Well … He didn’t ask for nobody else.” Meaning he did not want Goblin or One-Eye. He wanted to stay away from those two.

  “Find my bitty buddies and tell them I need them. Now.”

  The wizards turned up at their own leisure, of course. I told them, “Put me in a litter and lug me over to the citadel. We’re going to admit that you’ve been lying about me but only because I was totally sick. What we were doing on that raft last night was taking baths. You thought it would be cute to pop off a few fireballs while I had my pants down.”

  One-Eye started to complain but before he could start I growled, “I won’t face Mogaba without backup. He don’t have any reason to be nice anymore.”

  “He won’t be in a good mood,” Goblin predicted. “There’s been rioting. Food shortages are getting really bad. He won’t turn one grain of rice loose. Even his handpicked Taglian sergeants have started to desert.”

  “It’s all falling apart for him,” I said. “He was going to take over and show the world wonders but his followers can’t match his iron will.”

  “And we’re some kind of philanthropic brotherhood?” One-Eye muttered.

  “We never kill nobody who don’t ask for it. Come on. Let’s do it. And be ready for anything. Both of you.”

  But first we went up to the battlements, both so I could see this world by daylight and so the Nar at the North Gate could see me looking sick before I presented myself that way.

  The water level was just eight feet below the ramparts, higher than Hong Tray’s prediction. “Any flooding inside?”

  “Mogaba sealed the gates somehow. He has Jaicuri working parties bucket-brigading what seepage there is.”

  “Good for him. How about down below?”

  “There’s some seepage in the catacombs. Not a lot. We could keep up by hauling it up in buckets.”

  I grunted. I stared at Shadowspinner’s lake. I saw more corpses than I could count. “Those didn’t float up from the mounds, did they?”

  Goblin told me, “Mogaba threw people off the wall during the riots. And some might be from rafts that turned over or broke up.”

  I squinted. I could just make out a mounted patrol beyond the water. A raft with Jaicuri piled high had been caught by daylight. The people aboard were trying to move away from the waiting patrol by paddling with their hands.

  Thai Dei turned up so we knew his people were watching. I figured he would want me to visit the Speaker. But he said nothing. I told my bearers, “Take me to his worship.”

  As we approached I observed, “The citadel looks like something out of a spook story.” And it did, with the sky overcast behind it and crows swarming around. Dejagore
was a paradise for crows. They were going to get too fat to fly. Maybe we would get fat eating them.

  The Nar at the entrance would not let One-Eye and Goblin inside. “So take me home,” I told them.

  “Wait!”

  “Stick it, buddy. I got no need to put up with Mogaba’s crap. The Lieutenant is alive. So is the Captain, probably. Mogaba ain’t shit nowhere but inside his own head anymore.”

  “You could have at least argued until we were rested up.” One-Eye started shuffling sideways so he could turn and head back down the steps.

  Ochiba caught us before we reached street level. He was cast in the same mold as all Nar. His face remained neutral. “Apologies, Standardbearer. Won’t you reconsider?”

  “Reconsider what? I don’t especially want to see Mogaba. He’s been eating magic mushrooms or chewing lucky weed or something. I been shitting my guts out for over a week. I ain’t in no shape to play games with no homicidal lunatic.”

  Something fluttered behind Ochiba’s dark eyes. Maybe he agreed. Maybe there was another war going on inside him, a struggle between keeping faith with Gea-Xle’s greatest Nar ever and keeping faith with his own humanity.

  I was not going to pursue it. Any hint of outside interest would push waverers in the direction of “That’s the way it’s always been.”

  That was the top two, then, quietly questioning Mogaba’s way. If these guys doubted him things were probably worse than I thought.

  “As you wish.” Ochiba told the sentries, “Let the litterbearers in.”

  Nobody missed the significance of who my litterbearers were. It was a pretty direct statement.

  I felt comfortably confrontational.

  63

  Was Mogaba happy to see Goblin and One-Eye, and them looking so fit? You better believe he wasn’t. But he did not pursue his displeasure. He just ticked something on his mental get-even slate. He would make me even more unhappy than he had planned. Later.