The Return of the Black Company

by Glen Cook

  I gave up trying to remember, went out with Smoke to try to see our approach as the enemy would.

  Fireballs scattered colored pearls across the night. Torches speckled distant slopes with islands and snakes of light. The Shadowlander commanders watched without remark except when Blade suggested that the Captain was making his force appear more formidable by burning lots of torches.

  They were not concerned. A lot of the junior officers expected Longshadow to turn them loose after they stomped us. They saw themselves heading north in early spring, with the whole summer to plunder and punish.

  But a few were veterans of armies we had embarrassed in the past. Those men showed us more respect. And betrayed a more intense desire to cause us pain. They did not believe it would be easy but they did believe we would be defeated.

  Mogaba himself seemed more taken with his plans for a counterinvasion than he was interested in further preparing to withstand us here.

  I did not like it but I saw no real reason to believe they were overconfident.

  Still, all those fireballs and torches were heartening.

  That vast mass in motion out there had been inspired by the Black Company. And I had no trouble recalling when there were just seven of us, as unprepossessing a bunch of thugs as ever walked the earth. That was barely more than five years ago. Triumph or failure, this campaign would survive as a mighty drumbeat in the Annals.

  I went back to my flesh and slept again. When I awakened our vanguards were already approaching the Plain of Charandaprash. Mist had formed in all the low places and gullies.

  20

  We stopped amidst a grand hubbub. I leaned out of the wagon.

  The mists had become an all-enveloping fog. People with torches hustled hither and yon, their torches glowing like witch-lights. None came near me. All the forces had come together and now the world was very crowded.

  Croaker appeared. I told him, “You look totally beat.”

  “My ass is banging off my heels.” He climbed aboard, checked Smoke, settled down and closed his eyes.

  “Well?”

  “Uhm?”

  “You’re here. How come? And what about your goddamned pets? They watching?”

  For a moment I thought he had gone to sleep that quickly. He did not answer immediately. But: “I’m hiding out. From the birds, too. One-Eye scared them off.” About two minutes later, he added, “I don’t like it, Murgen.”

  “What don’t you like?”

  “Being Captain. I wish I could’ve stayed Annalist and physician. There’s less pressure.”

  “You’re managing all right.”

  “Not the way I hear it. I wasn’t Captain I wouldn’t have any long-term worries, either.”

  “Hell. And here I thought you were having the time of your life baffling the shit out of everybody.”

  “All I’ve ever wanted was to take us home. But they won’t let me.”

  “It’s for sure nobody’s ever going to open any doors for us. Especially not the Radisha. What to do about us seems to be on her mind a lot lately.”

  “It ought to be.” He smiled. “And I haven’t forgotten her.” He paused a moment, then said, “You’re up on your Annals. What was the bloodiest mess we ever got ourselves into?”

  “Right here is my guess. Back in the beginning, four hundred years ago. But that’s only by implication in the surviving Annals.”

  “History may repeat itself.” He did not sound thrilled. Not at all. He was not a bloodthirsty man.

  Neither am I, despite the hatreds I obsess over here. But my scruples do have blind areas. I do want to see several thousand villains suffer for what happened to Sahra.

  Croaker asked, “Do you know of any way to authenticate the lost Annals you took back from Soulcatcher?”

  “What?” What a horrible question. It never occurred to me before. “You saying you think they might not be real?”

  “I couldn’t read them but I could see that they weren’t originals. They were copies.”

  “They might not have told the true story?”

  “Smoke believed every word in the ones he had. And oral history supports his view of the Company as the terror of the ages, though there aren’t any specifics. But I do have to wonder because there just aren’t any contemporary accounts from independent observers.”

  “Something happened. Even if these books we have now are fabrications. What’re you thinking?”

  For a moment Croaker seemed tired of fighting. “Murgen, there’s something going on that’s more than you and me and Lady, the Taglians and the Shadowmasters and all that. Strange things are happening and they don’t add up any other way. I started to wonder when you kept falling into the past.”

  “I think Soulcatcher had something to do with that.”

  “She may well have. She’s got her fingers in everywhere else. But I don’t think she’s all of it. I think we’re all—even Soulcatcher—being manipulated. And I’m even beginning to think that it’s been going on for ages. That if we had the true firsts of the missing Annals and could read them we might see ourselves and what’s happening in a whole different way.”

  “Are you talking about the thing Lady goes on about in her book? Kina? Because I’ve seen her myself, a couple of times, when I was out walking the ghost. Or what I think was her based on myth and what Lady wrote.”

  “Kina. Yes. Or something that wants us to think it’s Kina.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the same thing, as far as we’re concerned?”

  “Uhm. I think she’s having those dreams again.”

  I thought so myself. “Looked like that to me, too. She’s getting pretty haggard.”

  “I thought a lot about this during the trip down here. Not much to do but think when you’re riding all day. My guess is, things have started going too fast for Kina. This is a critter that’s used to shaping long, slow shadow plays, manipulations that can take decades to unfold. Maybe even generations in our case. Her big scheme might have begun way back before our fore-brethren headed north. But now we’re coming home to roost and everything is happening too fast for her. The more she tries to guide events the more hamhanded she gets.”

  “For instance?”

  “Like what she did to Smoke.”

  “I really figured that was something Soulcatcher did.” Although there had been no evidence to pin that on her, either.

  “I suppose that’s possible, too. It’s even possible they were both after him and they got in each other’s way.”

  I recalled what I could of the incident from Lady’s book. I decided to stick with my Soulcatcher theory. Deceiver mythology did not credit Kina with that much ability to reach into the mundane world. The whole point of the cult was to bring on a time of such dramatic horror that the walls preventing Kina from touching our world could be ripped down from our side.

  I explained that.

  Croaker just shrugged. “Listen to this. I’m almost certain there wasn’t supposed to be any Black Company left after Dejagore. Except for Lady. She was the only one who was supposed to survive. And her number was supposed to be up when the Stranglers took our baby.”

  I considered that. “If that guy Ram hadn’t fallen for Lady…”

  “That would’ve been the end of everything. Kina would’ve had her Daughter of Night over on this side and the Year of the Skulls beginning to unfold without anyone to interfere.”

  I looked interested. That was easy. I was. I wanted him to keep going. Before he finished I might actually have some idea why he did everything he did.

  He said, “The wild cards messed up Kina’s hand.”

  “Wild cards? You mean Soulcatcher?”

  “She’s the biggest. But there’s Howler and there was Shifter and there’s still Shifter’s apprentice out there somewhere. All of them not part of the plan.”

  It was a hypothesis. It was well beyond any thinking I had done. Or in a different direction.

  “You be careful, Murgen. Stay in close
touch with your feelings. Don’t let the ghostwalking seduce you. This thing manipulates us through our emotions.”

  “Why should I worry? I just write stuff down.”

  His response was cryptic. “The standardbearer could be more important than the Daughter of Night before this is all over.”

  “How’s that?”

  He changed the subject. “You looked for the forvalaka lately?” He meant the shapeshifter trapped in animal form, the apprentice he had mentioned a moment ago.

  I thought about it, told him, “I’ve looked a few times but haven’t seen it since I doubled back on the massacre at Vehdna-Bota.”

  “I see. No hurry but when you get a chance, find out where she is now. We couldn’t be so lucky that she’s gotten herself killed.”

  “Oh, she hasn’t. One-Eye says she’s right out there in the wilds, following us. We were talking about her the other night. He’s convinced her only reason for living is to get even with him for killing Shifter before he taught her how to change back.”

  Croaker chuckled. “Yeah. Poor old boy. One of these days he’s going to discover that he isn’t the center of the universe. May all our surprises be pleasant ones. And all of Mogaba’s surprises real gut-rippers.” He chuckled again, wickedly. As he climbed down from the wagon he said, “Almost showtime.”

  He did see warfare more in terms of showmanship than in those of deadly games.

  21

  Once again I fluttered around Mogaba’s head. Me, Murgen, angel of espionage.

  Howler and Longshadow had arrived soon after dawn. They believed it would take both their concerted efforts to keep Lady from ripping Mogaba a new poop chute. Lady’s powers seemed to swell as she moved farther south.

  An idea hit like religious epiphany. I knew the fear that haunted the Captain. He suspected that Lady had regained her powers by making a pact with Kina.

  I have suspected that myself, off and on.

  The way sorcery works, the way I understood it, her loss of powers during the battle at the Barrowland should have been irreversible. It had to do with some unfathomable mystical gobbledegook about true names. Gunni mythology contained numerous stories about how gods and demons and devils went around hiding their true names in rocks or trees or grains of sand on the beach so their enemies would not be able to glom onto them and gain a hold. The whole business made no sense but that did not keep it from working.

  Lady’s true name had been named during the final showdown with her husband. She survived but, according to the mystical rules, was now an ordinary mortal. With looks to kill for. What made her interesting to people in her former trade was that she was a living storehouse of wicked lore. She had not lost any of her knowledge, only the ability to employ it.

  I was surprised that she had not been a bigger target than she had so far.

  Her name had no power over her anymore. Being powerless herself, apparently, she could not take advantage of those true names she knew. Otherwise she would have dealt with the Howler and her sister a long time ago. And she would not give those names away even to One-Eye and Goblin. She would die first.

  It takes a strange sort to become a wizard or sorceress.

  She had her own agenda still, that was certain. One-Eye or Goblin were not much but some things were like dropping a rock down a well.

  From conversations overheard I knew Longshadow would part with three or four thumbs to get hold of what Lady knew.

  Funny. Whenever he sent Howler to capture her the scheme machine never quite clicked. You would almost think Howler did not want his senior partner to become any more senior.

  Someday I will have to get Lady to explain the whole true names thing in a way that even a dummy like me can understand. Maybe I can get her to explain the whole business of sorcery so that those of us who study these Annals will have at least a vague idea of what is going on.

  Knowing will not keep us from crapping our small clothes when we run into sorcery but, still, it would be nice to have a notion what is behind all the deadly lights.

  * * *

  The Shadowlander soldiers were all in place. They gnawed field rations sleepily, hard at work at what soldiers do most. While we all waited I hung around those who spoke languages I could understand. The philosophers among them examined the intellects and characters of generals who put their troops into formation and made them stand ready when nothing was going to happen. Nothing. The damned Tals were too damned tired to do anything. They had spent the whole damned night on the move.

  “Tal” was a sort of pun. Though short for “Taglian” it also meant “turd” in the Sangel dialects common south of the Dandha Presh.

  I felt like I had soldiered with those guys. They spoke my language.

  Mogaba had built himself a giant observation tower a safe distance behind the lines. It was wooden. I thought he was going to find it uncomfortable pretty soon. Longshadow and Howler had joined him up there. The atmosphere was not festive but it was far from grim. Nobody was worried about us.

  Longshadow threatened to become cheerful. This battle was the culmination of all his planning. When it was over nothing could stop him from making himself master of the world. Except maybe a few allies who did not quite share his ambitions.

  I was hurt. A guy likes to be taken seriously. Mogaba had these people, from top to bottom, believing they were invincible.

  In the soldiering business you are often what you think you are.

  Confidence generates victory.

  Howler did not scream once while I watched. Longshadow did not throw one tantrum.

  Much as they fussed about Lady you would think they would be more tense.

  22

  The rising sun began burning off the mist—except around our camp. The wind was a feeble breeze coming from Lady’s flank. Fires smoldered there, keeping the camp obscured. The Shadowlanders could see only the camp followers who had been strong-armed into feeding the fires—and four wooden towers now rising above the smoke and mist. They were your basic siege towers, being assembled from precut parts brought up from barges on the Naghir River only with a lot of effort and plenty of good old-fashioned cussing.

  I did not understand. What was the point out here? We were not going to be clambering over any castle walls.

  Knowing Croaker, the project was under way just to get Mogaba wondering why.

  I dove Smoke into the smoke. The activity inside was not what I expected. The soldiers were asleep. Those who were up and about were mostly camp followers. They fed the fires, assembled the towers, smoothed the ground in paths leading toward Mogaba’s lines, cursed the moment Croaker was born. They had not followed the army so they could do its work.

  The soldiers who drove them to their tasks were not kind. The Old Man was clever enough to have had the work crews assembled according to religion, then managed by soldiers who did not cherish their beliefs.

  Some details of Croaker’s plan had begun trickling down through the ranks but there was no way anyone could put the pieces together into a whole. He would not let the whole picture get out where a genius could puzzle it out from its fragments.

  Now the challenge was to keep the only man who knew what it was alive until … Ah, me, Murgen. Where is your Black Company confidence?

  It never existed except as show.

  Ha. Here was Willow Swan, tall, blond and beautiful, trying harder than I to understand. An intuition might win him points with Lady. But he was grumbling in confusion to his companions.

  I found Lady not far away. She was not worried about what was going on. She was focused on business. She had taken station atop a knoll that raised her above the smoke. She stared up the pass, ready if the other side tried something.

  I took Smoke back to One-Eye’s wagon. Time for breakfast.

  “About goddamned time, Kid!” One-Eye complained. “You’ve got to start taking shorter trips. You’re gonna end up getting lost out there.”

  Everybody kept telling me that. It did not seem to
be happening, though, so my share of those fears were fading away. I asked, “Anything interesting happening?”

  “There’s a war on. Come on. Get out of the way. I need the old fart so I can do my part. Go get some exercise. Eat something. Make him some soup so you can feed him when I’m done.”

  “You feed him when you’re done, bat-breath. You’re the man with the job.”

  “You got a real attitude problem, Kid.”

  “We about to try something?”

  “No. We hiked five hundred goddamn miles in the middle of goddamn winter because they say the brush down here is so goddamn great for cookouts.”

  “Everybody acts like they’re drugged.”

  “Could be on account of they’re drugged. I don’t know. Just my opinion. I could be wrong. Get out of my way. I got work to do.”

  * * *

  The smoke was awful. And it got worse nearer the front of the army. Scant yards made a huge difference. After my first foray in that direction I decided curiosity could wait. I hung around the wagon. I ate and ate and ate. I used up most of One-Eye’s water. Served him right, the way he abused me.

  I thought about Sahra. I knew I would be thinking of her a lot now. Danger has a way of making you dwell on the things most important to you.

  The proximity of Narayan Singh haunted me, too. The living saint of the Deceivers was less than a mile away, tending his own cookfire while the Daughter of Night looked on dreamily, well bundled against the morning chill and damp.

  I started. Damn! That little reverie was almost real.

  I got restless waiting to get back to Smoke. I wanted to see if Singh was making breakfast. I needed to get away from all these thoughts about Sarie.

  When would the scars form around the pain? When would it stop hurting so much that I had to run away?

  I stared into the fire and tried to banish the thoughts. That was like picking at a scab. The harder I tried to think about something else the more I focused on Sarie. Eventually the fire filled my entire horizon and I seemed to see my wife on the other side, rumpled and beautiful and somewhat pallid as she went about the mundane business of cooking rice. It was like I was looking back through time to a moment I had lived before.