Dreams of Steel

by Glen Cook

Swan surprised me. “We watched the battle. We saw. So did a lot of men who’ve come in. Even some of Jah’s own men admit it.”

  “A liability,” Mather said. “But it’s not going to undo him.”

  Ghopal reminded me that three Shadar had escaped. True. And they would fly straight to their master, who was sure to make a move. But I doubted he’d do it right away. He was a vacillator. He’d worry a while before committing himself.

  “Back to camp. Swan. Come. Ghopal. Bring the prisoners.” I rode ahead as hard as the stallion could carry me.

  “Sound the alarm and the recall,” I told the soldiers at the north gate. “Narayan! Ram!”

  They came running. Narayan gasped, “What is it, Mistress?”

  “We’re pulling out. Right now. Forced march. Get the men ready. Let the horses carry most of the load. Make sure each man carries food. We won’t stop for meals. Move.”

  They scooted.

  It was midafternoon. Ghoja was forty miles away, a ten-hour jaunt if everyone kept the pace. If the night wasn’t too dark. It shouldn’t be if the sky stayed clear. There’d be a quarter moon rising an hour after sunset. Not a lot of light, but maybe enough.

  The horns that we’d taken from the Shadowmasters’ cavalry kept sounding recall. The pickets came running. The gang I’d left up the road arrived. Swan and Mather were impressed by the chaos.

  Mather said, “You’ve taught well.” “I think so.”

  “What’re you fixing to do?” Swan asked.

  “Take charge at Ghoja before Jah can react.”

  He groaned.

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “Only that we just got finished riding down here. Forty more miles and I won’t have a spine left.”

  “So walk. Sindhu! Come here.” I took the wide man aside, gave him instructions. He left smiling, gathered two dozen men with strong stomachs, mostly his cronies, and crossed the creek. I sent another man to round up the poles we used for practice pikes and spears.

  Swan asked, “You mind if we get something to eat?”

  “Help yourself. Then find me. I want to talk to you.”

  Idiot. He gave me a big, nervous smile. I didn’t need to be a mind-reader to get what was going on in the back of his head.

  The troops got it together faster than I expected. They had the word. Ghoja. Straight through.

  I still had a serious problem, lack of a command structure. I had solid squads and the squad leaders by tens had picked company commanders, but none of those had had more than a few days’ practice. And neither of my formally organized battalions had anyone in charge.

  “Mather.”

  He set his food aside. “Ma’am?”

  “You strike me as a responsible man. Also, you have field experience and a reputation. I have two battalions of four hundred men but no commanders. My man Narayan can muddle through with one if I keep him out of trouble. I need somebody to handle the other. A known hero would be perfect-if I thought he wouldn’t work against me.”

  Mather looked me in the eye for several seconds. “I work for the Radisha. I couldn’t.”

  “I could.”

  I turned. That was Blade.

  Smoke had a squeaking fit.

  Blade grinned, the first I’d seen him do so. “I don’t owe you anything, little man.” He turned to Swan. “What did I say? Ain’t over yet.”

  Something flickered across Swan’s face. He wasn’t happy. “You’re putting us in a bad spot, Blade.”

  “You putting yourself there, Swan. You said it, what kind of people they are. Soon as they got what they want they going to stick it in you. That right, wizard? Like you done the Black Company?”

  Smoke staggered. He would’ve been dead if he’d had a bad heart. He looked like he expected me to roast him. I smiled. I’d let him stew a little first. “I’ll accept your offer, Blade. Come meet your hundred-leaders.”

  Once we were out of earshot of the others I asked, “What did you mean by that remark?”

  “Less than it sounded. The wizard, the Radisha, the Prahbrindrah, they hurt you more by deceit than treachery. They withheld information. I can’t tell you what. I don’t know. They thought we were spies you sent ahead. But I can tell you they never meant to keep their agreement. For some reason they don’t want you to get to Khatovar.”

  Khatovar. Croaker’s mystery destination, the place the Black Company had originated. For four hundred years the Company moved northward slowly, in the service of various princes, till it came into mine, then of my enemies, and was reduced to a handful of men. After the battle in the Barrowland, Croaker turned back south with fewer followers than my squad leaders had today.

  We’d gathered a man here, a man there, and when we’d reached Taglios we’d discovered we couldn’t cross the last four hundred miles because the principalities of the Shadowmasters lay between us and Khatovar. There was only one way to cover those final miles. Take Taglios, already pressed by the Shadowmasters, with its pacifist history, and win an impossible war.

  The agreement with the Prahbrindrah had been that the Company would train and lead a Taglian army. Once the war had been won that army would support the Company’s quest for Khatovar.

  “Interesting,” I told Blade. “But not a surprise. Sindhu!” He was back. He’d moved fast. Whatever he was, he could do a job. I told him, “I want you to stick to our guests.” I indicated Swan, Mather, and Smoke. “Show the little one your rumel if they abuse our hospitality.” He nodded.

  “They’re to walk like everyone else.” He nodded again, went back to mounting skulls on poles.

  Blade watched for a moment but said nothing, though I’m sure he had thoughts.

  We marched out an hour after I decided to move. I was pleased.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We didn’t reach Ghoja in ten hours but I hadn’t expected to make four miles an hour in the dark. We did get in before dawn and, with Blade’s connivance, we chose a campsite which both shouldered the road and almost nudged Jahamaraj Jah’s encampment. We were there an hour before anyone noticed. Sloppy. Deadly sloppy. If we’d been the Shadowmasters’ cavalry we could have cleaned the area.

  We used the skulls and poles to mark the bounds of the camp. I had the interior laid out in a checkerboard cross with the center square for the headquarters group, the four squares on its points for four battalions with the squares between as drill grounds. The men grumbled about having to set up for twice their number-especially since certain favored individuals, who had been performing well, only had to stand around holding poles with skulls atop them.

  Croaker had been fond of showmanship. He’d said you should adjust the minds of observers to think what you wanted them to think. That was never my style, but in the past I’d had brute force to waste. Here, let everyone think I believed I’d soon have men enough for four battalions and the battalions would expand.

  Tired as they were, the men were content to work and grumble. I saw no shirking. No one deserted.

  People came out of the fortress and other camps to watch. The men Narayan sent to gather firewood and timber and stone ignored their undisciplined cousins. Skulls looking down moved the curious to keep their distance. Sindhu babysat Swan, Mather, and Smoke. Blade took his appointment seriously. The men in his battalion accepted him. He was one of the heroes of the desperate hours before the coming of the Company. It was almost too sweet.

  But nothing crept up. I watched the watchers. The camp was three-quarters complete, including a ditch and embankment and the rudiments of a palisade faced with locust thorns and wild rose canes. Jahamaraj Jah rode out of his camp, watched for fifteen minutes. He didn’t look pleased by our industry.

  I summoned Narayan. “You see Jah?” He was hard to miss. He was as gaudy as a prince. He’d carried all that with him on campaign? “Yes, Mistress.”

  “I’ll be on the other side of camp for a while. If some of your men-especially Shadar-suffered a lapse of discipline and called him coward and dese
rter I doubt their punishments would be onerous.” He grinned, started to dart away. “Hold it.” “Mistress?”

  “You seen to have friends everywhere. I wouldn’t be averse to knowing what’s going on around here if you found contacts. Maybe Ghopal and Hakim and a few others could desert when you weren’t looking. Or otherwise get out and poke around.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “I do. I trust you that far. I know you’ll do what needs to be done.”

  His grin faded. He caught the warning edge.

  From Narayan I went to Swan. “How are you doing?”

  “Dying of boredom. Are we prisoners?”

  “No. Guests with limited mobility. Now free to go. Or stay. I could use your cachet.”

  Smoke shook his head vigorously, as though he feared Swan would desert the Radisha. I told him, “You’re awfully anxious to hang onto a Black Company spy.”

  He looked at me and went through some internal change, as though he’d decided to abandon ineffectual tactics. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, though. The role he’d been in couldn’t have been that far from the real Smoke.

  He never said a word.

  Swan grinned and winked. “I’m gone. But I got a feeling I’ll be back.”

  The racket started up in Narayan’s sector as I watched Swan go. I wondered how Jah was taking it.

  Swan was back within the hour. “She wants to see you.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Ram, get Narayan and Blade. Sindhu, too.”

  I took Narayan and Blade with me. Sindhu I left in charge, hinting that I’d be pleased if the camp was finished when I got back.

  I paused at the gate of the Ghoja fortress, glanced back. It was an hour short of noon. We had been here six hours. Already my camp was the most complete, best protected, most military.

  Professionalism and preparedness are relative, I suppose.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Croaker hobbled to the temple door, looked out. Soulcatcher was nowhere around. He hadn’t seen her for days. He wondered if he’d been abandoned. He doubted it. She’d just waited till he was able to care for himself, then had hurried off on some arcane business.

  He thought of making a run for it. He knew the surrounding country. There was a village he could reach in a few hours, even at the pace he could make. But that escape would be no escape.

  Soulcatcher was away but the crows had stayed to watch. They would stay with him. They would lead her to him. She had the horses. Those beasts could run forever without tiring. She could spot him a week’s lead and catch him.

  Still...

  This place was like an island outside the world. It was dark and depressing.

  He started walking, going nowhere, moving for the sake of movement. The crows nagged at him. He ignored them, ignored the ache thumping in his chest. He strolled through the woods, to the countryside beyond, emerging near the half-dead tree.

  He recalled it now. Before Dejagore and Ghoja he had come south to scout the terrain, had spied Soulcatcher watching, had chased her into these woods. He’d stood by that tree trying to decide what to do next-and an arrow had hit it, nearly taking off his nose. It had carried a message, telling him it wasn’t time for him to catch whomever he was chasing.

  Then the Shadowmasters’ men had come after him and he’d been too busy running to give the place any more thought.

  He walked up to the tree. Crows burdened its branches. He fingered the hole where the arrow had hit. She’d been watching over him then, hadn’t she? Not interfering but there just in case, maybe laying on a nudge or two to make sure he was around for her revenge.

  A long, lazy hill lay before. He decided to ignore the crows. He kept walking.

  The pain in his chest became insistent. He wasn’t ready for so much exercise. He couldn’t have gone far even without the crows keeping track.

  As he paused to rest he wondered how much Soulcatcher had intruded on his affairs. Could she have had some hand in the outcome at Dejagore?

  Destroying Stormbringer, who had worn the alias Stormshadow, had been easier than he’d expected. And getting Shapeshifter had been a breeze, too-though there’d been a little treachery to that, since Shifter had been helping Lady. Which reminded him. That girl. Shifter’s apprentice. She’d gotten away. She could be thinking of evening scores. Did Soulcatcher know about her? Better mention her next chance he got.

  His heartbeat had fallen off toward normal. The pain had waned. He resumed walking. He reached the ridgeline and stood leaning against a gnarly grey piece of exposed rock, panting while crows circled and nattered. “Oh, shut up! I’m not going anywhere.”

  Another outcrop nearby vaguely suggested a chair. He shuffled over and sat, surveyed his kingdom.

  All Taglios could have been his if he’d won at Dejagore, had that been his ambition.

  A flight of three crows arrowed in from the north, coming like racing pigeons, swirled into the flock, cawed some. The whole mob scattered. Odd.

  He leaned back, thought about the battle’s aftermath. Mogaba was alive and holding the city against besieging Shadowmasters, according to Soulcatcher. Maybe a third of the army had managed to get inside the walls. Fine. A stubborn defense would keep them away from Taglios. But he didn’t care that much about Taglios. Nice people, but anybody who was anybody was thoroughly treacherous.

  He was concerned about the few friends he’d left down south. Had any survived? Had they salvaged the Annals, those precious histories that were the time link cementing the Company? What had become of Murgen and the standard and his Widowmaker armor? Legend said the standard had been with the Company since the day it had marched from Khatovar.

  What were those damned crows up to? Moments ago there had been a thousand of them. Now he couldn’t see a dozen. Those all glided at high altitude, drifting back and forth over something up the valley.

  Had Khatovar become a hopeless dream? Had the last page of the Annals been written just four hundred miles from home?

  Sudden memory from the first hours of their journey away from Dejagore. Just an image, of a man floating, writhing upon a lance. Moonshadow? Yes. And Moonshadow had been skewered upon that lance during the fighting. Skewered on the lance that supported the standard. It wasn’t lost! That heirloom more important than

  the Annals themselves was down there in the temple somewhere. He hadn’t seen it. She must have hidden it.

  He glanced at a sky where cumulus marched across a turquoise field. The crows were closer, those few still aloft. He jerked, startled. One was headed his way like a winged missile.

  It flapped, fluttered, very nearly suicided, making a landing on a rock pinnacle inches from his left hand. The bird said, “Don’t move!” in a perfectly intelligible voice.

  He didn’t move, though instantly he had a dozen questions. It took no genius to understand that something significant was happening. The birds didn’t speak to him otherwise. In fact, they had only once before, bringing the warning that had allowed him to move in time to whip the Shadowmasters at Ghoja ford.

  The crow hunkered down and became part of the rock. Croaker eased down a little himself, so he’d present no obviously human form against the skyline, then froze. Moments later he spied movement in the shallow valley before him.

  It darted from cover to cover. Then there was more movement, and more. His heart hammered as he remembered the shadows the minions of the Shadowmasters had brought north.

  These were no shadows. They were small brown men, but not of the race of the small brown men who had managed the shadows. Those had been cousins of the Taglians. Something familiar about these. But they were so far away.

  It didn’t occur to them to look up where he was seated. Or if they did they couldn’t see him. They moved on down the valley.

  Then there were more of them, maybe twenty-five, not sneaking like the others, who must have been scouts. He saw this bunch well enough to recall where he’d seen their kind before. On the great river that ran from the heart
of the continent down past Taglios to the sea. He had fought them a year ago, two thousand miles north of here. They had blockaded the river against all commerce. The Company had opened the way, crushing them in a wild night-time battle where sorceries flashed and howled.

  The Howler!

  The main party was in sight. Eight men carried a ninth on a sedan of sorts. The ninth was a small figure so covered with clothing it looked like a pile of rags. As it came abreast of Croaker it let out a prolonged moan.

  The Howler. One of the Ten Who Were Taken who had been servants of the Lady in her northern empire, a terrible wizard, thought slain in battle till that night on the river when he’d tried to even old scores against his former empress. Only the intercession of Shifter had driven him off.

  Another moan escaped the sorcerer. It was a feeble shadow of the Howler’s usual wails. Probably trying to control his cries to avoid attracting attention.

  Croaker sat so still his heart almost stopped. There was little in the world he wanted less than to attract attention now. His concentration was so intense he felt no discomfort from rock or chill breeze.

  The party passed on, with more small brown men trailing behind, in rearguard. It was an hour before Croaker was confident that he had seen the last of them.

  He had counted one hundred twenty-eight swamp warriors, plus the sorcerer. The warriors wouldn’t be much use so far out of their element. This terrain was alien to them. But the Howler... Terrain and climate and whatnot meant nothing to him.

  Where was he headed? Didn’t take much to guess. Down to the Shadowlands. Why was more of a mystery, but probably not so great a one.

  The Howler had been one of the Taken. Some of the Shadowmasters had been fugitive Taken, too. It seemed likely the survivors had made contact with their Former comrade and had negotiated some compact whereby he would replace the Shadowmasters who had fallen.

  Lady was alive and at Ghoja, if Soulcatcher hadn’t lied. Not forty miles away. He wished he could make that journey. He wished there was some way he could get a message to her. She needed to know about this.