Chronicles of the Black Company

by Glen Cook

  Bomanz was not a fastidious worker. For a hundred feet around his pit the earth was littered with bones, useless scraps of old gear, and miscellaneous trash. A gruesome sight. Bomanz did not notice.

  “Why bother? It’ll be overgrown in a year. Besides, I don’t want to make Men fu work any harder than he has to.”

  “You’re all heart, Bo.”

  “I work at it.”

  “See you around.”

  “All right.” And Bomanz tried to puzzle out what he had done wrong, what Besand had come for and not found. He shrugged, snuggled into the grass, closed his eyes.

  The woman beckoned. Never had the dream been so clear. And never so successful. He went to her and took her hand, and she led him along a cool green tree-lined path. Thin shafts of sunlight stabbed through the foliage. Golden dust danced in the beams. She spoke, but he could not decipher her words. He did not mind. He was content.

  Gold became silver. Silver became a great blunt blade stabbing a nighttime sky, obscuring the weaker stars. The comet came down, came down … and a great female face opened upon him. It was shouting. Shouting angrily. And he could not hear. …

  The comet vanished. A full moon rode the diamond-studded sky. A great shadow crossed the stars, obscuring the Milky Way. A head, Bomanz realized. A head of darkness. A wolf’s head, snapping at the moon. … Then it was gone. He was with the woman again, walking that forest path, tripping over sunbeams. She was promising him something. …

  He wakened. Jasmine was shaking him. “Bo! You’re dreaming again. Wake up.

  “I’m all right,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You’ve got to stop eating so many onions. A man your age, and with an ulcer.”

  Bomanz sat up, patted his paunch. The ulcer had not bothered him lately. Maybe he had too much else on his mind. He swung his feet to the floor and stared into the darkness.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking about going out to see Stance.”

  “You need your rest.”

  “Bull. Old as I am? Old people don’t need to rest. Can’t afford to. Don’t have the time left to waste.” He felt for his boots.

  Jasmine muttered something typical. He ignored her. He had that down to a fine art. She added, “Take care out there.”

  “Eh?”

  “Be careful. I don’t feel comfortable now that Besand is gone.”

  “He only left this morning.”

  “Yes, but. …”

  Bomanz left the house muttering about superstitious old women who could not stand change.

  He took a random roundabout route, occasionally pausing to watch the comet. It was spectacular. A great mane of glory. He wondered if his dream had been trying to tell him something. A shadow devouring the moon. Not solid enough, he decided.

  Nearing the edge of town, he heard voices. He softened his step. People were not usually out at this time of night.

  They were inside an abandoned shack. A candle flickered inside. Pilgrims, he supposed. He found a peephole, but he could see nothing save a man’s back. Something about those slumped shoulders. … Besand? Of course not. Too wide. More like that one ape of Tokar’s. …

  He could not identify the voices, which were mostly whispers. One did sound a lot like Men fu’s habitual whine. The words were distinct enough, though.

  “Look, we did everything we could to get him out of here. You take a man’s job and home, he ought to realize he’s not wanted. But he won’t go.”

  A second voice: “Then it’s time for heroic measures.”

  Whiny voice: “That’s going too far.”

  Short of disgust. “Yellow. I’ll do it. Where is he?”

  “Holed up in the old stable. The loft. Fixed himself a pallet, like an old dog in a corner.”

  A grunt as someone rose. Feet moving. Bomanz grabbed his belly, mouse-stepped away and hid in a shadow. A hulking figure crossed the road. Comet light glittered upon a naked blade.

  Bomanz scuttled to a more distant shadow and stopped to think.

  What did it mean? Murder, surely. But who? Why? Who had moved into the abandoned stable? Pilgrims and transients used the empty places all the time.… Who were those men?

  Possibilities occurred. He banished them. They were too grim. When his nerves returned, he hurried to the dig.

  Stancil’s lantern was there, but he was nowhere in sight. “Stance?” No answer. “Stancil? Where are you?” Still no answer. Almost in panic, he shouted, “Stancil!”

  “That you, Pop?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Taking a crap,”

  Bomanz sighed, sat down. His son appeared a moment later, brushing sweat off his forehead. Why? It was a cool night.

  “Stance, did Besand change his mind? I saw him leave this morning. A while ago I heard men plotting to kill somebody. Sounded like they meant him.”

  “Kill? Who?”

  “I don’t know. One of them might have been Men fu. There were three or four of them. Did he come back?”

  “I don’t think so. You didn’t dream something, did you? What are you doing out in the middle of the night, anyway?”

  “That nightmare again. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t imagine it. Those men were going to kill somebody because he wouldn’t leave.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Pop.”

  “I don’t care. …” Bomanz whirled. He heard the strange noise again. A figure staggered into the light. It took three steps and fell.

  “Besand! It is Besand. What did I tell you?”

  The former Monitor had a bloody wound across his chest. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll be okay. Just shock. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “What happened?”

  “Tried to kill me. Told you all hell would break loose. Told you they’d make a play. Beat them this round, though. Got their assassin instead.”

  “I thought you left. I saw you leave.”

  “I changed my mind. Couldn’t go. I took an oath, Bo. They took away my job but not my conscience. I’ve got to stop them.”

  Bomanz met his son’s gaze. Stancil shook his head, “Pop, look at his wrist.”

  Bomanz looked. “I don’t see anything.”

  “That’s the point. His amulet is gone.”

  “He turned it in when he left. Didn’t you?”

  “No,” Besand said. “Lost it in the fight. Couldn’t find it in the dark,” He made that funny sound.

  “Pop, he’s bad hurt. I better go to the barracks.”

  “Stance,” Besand gasped. “Don’t tell him. Get Corporal Husky.”

  “Right.” Stancil hurried off.

  The light of the comet filled the night with ghosts. The Barrowland seemed to twist and crawl. Momentary shapes drifted amongst the brush. Bomanz shuddered and tried to convince himself that his imagination was acting up now.

  Dawn was approaching. Besand was over his shock, sipping broth Jasmine had sent. Corporal Husky came to report the result of his investigation. “Couldn’t find anything, sir. Not no body, not no amulet. Not even no sign of no fight. It’s like it never happened.”

  “I sure as hell didn’t try to kill myself.”

  Bomanz became thoughtful. Had he not overheard the conspirators, he would have doubted Besand. The man was capable of staging an assault for sympathy.

  “I believe you, sir. I was just saying what I found.”

  “They blew their best chance. We’re warned now. Keep alert.”

  “Better not forget who’s in charge now,” Bomanz interjected. “Don’t get anybody in trouble with our new leader.”

  “That rockbrain. Do what you can, Husky. Don’t crawl out on a limb.”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal departed.

  Stancil said, “Pop, you ought to get back to the house. You’re looking grey.”

  Bomanz rose. “You all right now?” he asked.

  Besand replied, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. The sun is up. That kind don’t try anyt
hing in broad daylight.”

  Don’t bet on it, Bomanz thought. Not if they’re devotees of the Domination. They’ll bring the darkness to high noon.

  Out of earshot, Stancil said, “I was thinking last night, Pop. Before this got started. About our name problem. And suddenly it hit me. There’s an old stone in Oar. A big one with runic carvings and pictographs. Been around forever. Nobody knows what it is or where it came from. Nobody really cares.”

  “So?”

  “Let me show you what’s carved on it.” Stancil picked up a twig, brushed a dusty area clear of debris. He started drawing. “There’s a crude star in a circle at the top. Then some lines of runes nobody can read. I can’t remember those. Then some pictures.” He sketched rapidly.

  “That’s pretty rough.”

  “So is the original. But look. This one. Stick figure with a broken leg. Here. A worm? Here, a man superimposed over an animal. Here, a man with a lightning bolt. You see? The Limper. Nightcrawler. Shifter. Storm bringer.”

  “Maybe. And maybe you’re reaching.”

  Stancil kept drawing. “Okay. That’s the way they are on the rock. The four I named. In the same order as on your chart. Look here. At your empty spots. They could be the Taken whose graves we haven’t identified.” He tapped what looked like a simple circle, a stick figure with its head cocked, and a beast head with a circle in its mouth.

  “The positions match,” Bomanz admitted.

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “You’re being intentionally thick, Pop. A circle is a zero, maybe. Maybe a sign for the one called the Faceless Man or Nameless man. And here the Hanged Man. And here Moondog or Moon biter?”

  “I see it, Stance. I’m just not sure I want to.” He told Stance about having dreamed of a great wolf’s head snapping at the moon.

  “You see? Your own mind is trying to tell you. Go check the evidence. See if it don’t fit this way.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  “Why not?”

  “I know it by heart. It fits.”

  “Then what’s the matter?”

  “I’m not sure I want to do it anymore.”

  “Pop. … Pop, if you won’t, I will. I mean it. I’m not going to let you throw away thirty-seven years. What’s changed, anyway? You gave up a hell of a future to come out here. Can you just write that off?”

  “I’m used to this life. I don’t mind it.”

  “Pop. … I’ve met people who knew you back when. They all say you could have been a great wizard. They wonder what happened to you. They know that you had some great secret plan and went off to chase it. They figure you’re dead now, ‘cause anybody with your talent would’ve been heard from. Right now I’m wondering if they’re not right.”

  Bomanz sighed. Stancil would never understand. Not without getting old under the threat of the noose.

  “I mean it, Pop. I’ll do it myself.”

  “No, you won’t. You have neither the knowledge nor the skill. I’ll do it. I guess it’s fated.”

  “Let’s go!”

  “Not so eager. This isn’t a tea party. It’ll be dangerous. I need rest and time to get into the right frame of mind. I have to assemble my equipment and prepare the stage.”

  “Pop.…”

  “Stancil, who is the expert? Who is going to do this?”

  “I guess you are.”

  “Then shut your mouth and keep it shut. The quickest I could try is tomorrow night. Assuming I stay comfortable with those names.”

  Stancil looked pained and impatient.

  “What’s the hurry? What’s your stake in it?”

  “I just. … I think Tokar is bringing Glory. I wanted everything out of the way when she got here.”

  Bomanz raised a despairing eyebrow. “Let’s go to the house. I’m exhausted.” He glanced back at Besand, who was staring into the Barrowland. The man was stiff with defiance. “Keep him out of my hair.”

  “He won’t be getting around too good for a while.”

  Later Bomanz muttered, “I wonder what it was all about, anyway? Really Resurrectionists?”

  Stancil said, “The Resurrectionists are a myth Besand’s bunch use to keep themselves employed.”

  Bomanz recalled some university acquaintances. “Don’t be too sure.”

  When they reached the house, Stance trudged upstairs to study the chart. Bomanz ate a small meal. Before lying down, he told Jasmine, “Keep an eye on Stance. He’s acting funny.”

  “Funny? How?”

  “I don’t know. Just funny. Pushy about the Barrowland. Don’t let him find my gear. He might try to open the path himself.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “I hope not. But watch him.”

  The Barrowland

  Case heard Corbie was back at last. He ran to the old man’s home. Corbie greeted him with a hug. “How you been, lad?”

  “We thought you were gone for good.” Corbie had been away eight months.

  “I tried to get back. There’s damned near no roads anymore.”

  “I know. The Colonel asked the Taken to fly supplies in.”

  “I heard. The military government in Oar got off their butts when that hit. Sent a whole regiment to start a new road. It’s about a third of the way built. I came up on part of it.”

  Case donned his serious face. “Was it really your daughter?”

  “No,” Corbie said. On departing he had announced that he was off to meet a woman who might be his daughter. He claimed to have given over his savings to a man who would find his children and bring them to Oar.

  “You sound disappointed.”

  He was. His researches had not worked out well. Too many records were missing.

  “What sort of winter was it, Case?”

  “Bad.”

  “It was bad down there, too. I worried for you all.”

  “We had trouble with the tribes. That was the worst part. You can always stay inside and throw another log on. But you can’t eat if thieves steal your stores.”

  “I thought it might come to that.”

  “We watched your house. They broke in some of the empty places.”

  “Thank you.” Corbie’s eyes narrowed. His home had been violated? How thoroughly? A careful searcher might have found enough to hang him. He glanced out a window. “Looks like rain.”

  “It always looks like rain. When it don’t look like snow. It got twelve feet deep last winter. People are worried. What’s happened to the weather?”

  “Old folks say it goes this way, after the Great Comet. The winters turn bad for a few years. Down in Oar it never got that cold. Plenty of snow, though.”

  “Wasn’t that cold here. Just snowed so much you couldn’t get out. I like to went crazy. The whole Barrowland looked like a frozen lake. You could hardly tell where the Great Barrow was.”

  “Uhm? I have to unpack yet. If you don’t mind? Let everyone know I’m back. I’m near broke. I’ll need work.”

  “Will do, Corbie.”

  Corbie watched from a window as Case ambled back to the Guard compound, taking an elevated walkway built since his departure. The mud below explained it. That and Colonel Sweet’s penchant for keeping his men occupied. Once Case vanished he went to the second floor.

  Nothing had been disturbed. Good. He peeped out a window, toward the Barrowland.

  How it had changed in just a few years. A few more and you would not be able to find it.

  He grunted, stared the harder. Then he retrieved the silken map from its hiding place, studied it, then the Barrowland again. After a time he fished sweat-stained papers from inside his shirt, where he had carried them since stealing them from the university in Oar. He spread them over the map.

  Late that afternoon he rose, donned a cloak, gathered the cane he now carried, and went out. He limped through the water and mud and drizzle till he reached a point overlooking the Great Tragic River.

  It was in flood, as always. Its bed had continued to shift.
After a time he cursed, smote an old oak with his cane, and turned back.

  The day had gone grey with the hour. It would be dark before he got home.

  “Damned complications,” he muttered. “I never counted on this. What the hell am I going to do?”

  Take the high risk. The one chance he wished most to avoid, though its possible necessity was his real reason for having wintered in Oar.

  For the first time in years he wondered if the game were worth the candle.

  Whatever his course, it would be dark before he got home.

  The Plain of Fear

  You get mad and walk out on Darling, you can miss a lot. Elmo, One-Eye, Goblin, Otto, those guys like to bait me. They were not about to clue me in. They got everybody else to go along. Even Tracker, who seemed to be taking a shine to me and chattered at me more than everybody else combined, would not drop a hint. So when the day came, I went topside in total ignorance.

  I’d packed the usual field gear. Our traditions are heavy infantry, though mostly we ride these days. All of us are too old to lug eighty pounds of gear. I dragged mine to the cavern that serves as a stable and smells like the grandfather of them all—and found that not one animal was saddled. Well, one. Darling’s.

  The stable boy just grinned when I asked what was going on. “Go on up,” he said. “Sir.”

  “Yeah? Rotten bastards. They play games with me? I’ll get them. They damned well better start remembering who keeps the Annals around here.” I bitched and moaned all the way into the pre-moonset shadows that lurked around the tunnel mouth. There I found the rest of the outfit, all already up, with light gear. Each man carried his weapons and a sack of dried food.

  “What you doing, Croaker?” One-Eye asked with suppressed laughter. “Look like you’re taking everything you own. You a turtle? Carry your house on your back?”

  And Elmo: “We ain’t moving, boy. Just going on a raid.”

  “You’re a bunch of sadists, you know that?” I stepped into the wan light. The moon was half an hour from setting. Far, Taken drifted on the night. Those son-of-a-bitches were determined to keep a close watch. Nearer, a whole horde of menhirs had gathered. They looked like a graveyard out on the desert, there were so many of them. There were a lot of walking trees, too.