Dreams of Steel

by Glen Cook

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Longshadow did without sleep for six days while he fought the sorcery gnawing at Howler’s flesh and soul. He triumphed, but barely. Then he collapsed.

  Shadowcatch was an old, old city. Forever in the looming shadow of glittering stone, it was a repository for much ancient lore, much known nowhere else, much known only to Longshadow, who had plundered its libraries and had disposed of everyone who shared any knowledge he coveted.

  Among the legends of the plain, which had been old when the city had been founded, was one about the Lances of Passion. It said their heads had been forged of metal taken from the sword of a demon king devoured by Kina during the great battle between Light and Shadow. That demon king’s soul was imprisoned in the steel, fragmented amongst eight lance heads. He could not be restored while Kina slept.

  The shafts of the lances, too, were the object of legend. Two were supposed to have been formed from the thighbones of Kina herself, taken after she had been tricked into endless sleep. One was supposedly the penis of the Regent of Shadow, that Kina had hacked off during the great battle. The rest were supposed to be of wood from the tree in which the goddess of brotherly love, Rhavi-Lemna, had hidden her soul shortly before the Wolves of Shadow ran her down and devoured her, soon after Man was created. Kina had witnessed the concealment and had torn up the tree and had made it into arrows and lance shafts. If ever the Lords of Light did bring Rhavi-Lemna together again, out of the bellies of the hateful Wolves, she would have no soul. And they could not get that back for her while Kina lay sleeping.

  Each of the outbound Free Companies of Khatovar had followed one of the Lances when they had broken into the world to bring on the Year of the Skulls. But who had sent them forth?

  Longshadow could not be sure. The ghost-spirit of sleeping Kina? The Lords of Light, who would restore Rhavi-Lemna? The children of the demon king, who remained imprisoned in those lance heads while she slept? The Regent of Shadow, weary of being at a disadvantage in the lists of love?

  The librarians of old recorded the return of all the Companies but one, the Black Company, which lost its own past and wandered aimlessly down the centuries, till it elected a Captain eager to seek out its roots.

  Longshadow knew very little about the Lances but he did know more than anyone else alive. Howler and Catcher suspected some. No one else had a hint that the Black Company’s standard was anything but an old artifact that had survived for centuries, till it vanished during the battle at Dejagore.

  Only to resurface in Taglios, in the hands of a bodyguard.

  Its recovery was high among Longshadow’s priorities. He would send for it as soon as Howler recovered. He would devote his own time to harvesting the knowledge of his captive.

  But first he slept, having conquered the Howler’s wounds.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  It took the imp Frogface five days to locate his mistress. Then he waited till the attention of Overlook’s master lapsed before he made his way inside. He entered with trepidation. Longshadow was a powerful sorcerer, dreaded in the demon worlds.

  His entry disturbed no one. Overlook’s defenses were meant to stop shadows from the south. He found his mistress in a dark cell beneath the fortress’s roots, her drugged mind in a cell of its own, deep inside her brain. He debated. He could forget her. He could help and maybe win his freedom. Freeing her was not within the specific orders she had given him.

  He stretched out beside her, bit a hole in her throat, drank her blood. He cleansed it and returned it.

  She wakened slowly, sensed what he was doing, let him finish. He closed the wound. She sat up in the darkness. “The Howler. Where am I?”

  “Overlook.”

  “Why?”

  “They mistook you for your sister.”

  She laughed bitterly. “My act was too good.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Last seen near Dejagore. I hunted you for a week.”

  “And they couldn’t see her? She’s getting stronger. What about Croaker?”

  “I’ve been hunting you.”

  “Find him. I want him back. I can’t let him reach my sister. Do anything you have to to stop that.”

  “I’m forbidden to take life.”

  “Anything else, then, but keep them apart.”

  “You don’t need help here?”

  “I’ll handle... You’re free to roam here?”

  “Pretty much. Parts are sealed behind spells only Longshadow can penetrate.”

  “Search the place. Tell me what everyone is doing. Then find Croaker and my sister.”

  The imp sighed. So much for gratitude.

  She caught the sense of the sound. “Do it right and you’re free. Forever.”

  “Right! I’m gone.”

  She waited for her captors to come receive their surprise. As she waited she heard the whispers of darkness carrying from the nearby plain. She caught some of what was said, began to taste the fear that plagued Longshadow.

  She could not just sit there like a trapdoor spider, waiting. Longshadow and Howler were sleeping. She should go.

  The very stones of Overlook had been hardened against sorcery. She melted her way out, for those stones would melt before they yielded.

  The lower levels were dark. Surprising. Longshadow feared the dark. She climbed slowly, wary of ambushes, but she encountered no one. She grew nervous as she approached the light.

  Nothing waited there, either. Apparently. Was the fortress deserted?

  Something was wrong. She extended her senses, still detected nothing. Onward and upward. And more nothing. Where were the soldiers? There should be thousands, constantly scurrying like blood in the veins.

  She spied a way out. She had to descend a stairway to reach it. She was halfway down when the attack came, a wave of little brown men carrying cruel halberds, wearing armor of wood and strange, ornate animal helmets.

  She had a spell prepared, a summoning that taxed her limits. She struck a pose, loosed it. It broke a hole in the fabric of everything. Sparks of ten thousand colors flew. Something huge and ugly and hungry started through, tearing the hole wider. Steel left no mark upon its snout. Its snarls chilled the blood. It ripped itself out of the womb of elsewhere and flew after the garrison. Men screamed. It ran faster than they did.

  Soulcatcher walked out into the night blanketing Overlook. “That will keep them busy.” She looked north, angry. A long walk lay ahead of her.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The bridge I had wanted built was incomplete but we did cross on foot while soldiers brought our mounts across by the ford. My move was symbolic, meant to lend encouragement to the engineers.

  Narayan was impressed and Ram was indifferent, except to say it was nice to cross the river without getting his feet wet. He did not see the implications of a bridge.

  Because I was sick it took longer to reach Ghoja than I anticipated. We were pressed for time. Narayan rode the edge of panic but we reached the holy grove late the evening before the ceremonies. I was exhausted. I told Narayan, “You handle the arrangements. I can’t do anything more.”

  He looked at me, concerned. Ram said, “You must see a physician, Mistress. Soon.”

  “I’ve decided to. When we’re done here we head north. I can’t take this much longer.”

  “The rains...”

  The season would start soon. If we dallied in Taglios we would return to the Main after it started rising. Already there were scattered showers every day. “The bridge is there. We might have to leave our mounts but we can get across.”

  Narayan nodded curtly. “I’ll talk to the priests. See that she rests, Ram. Initiation can be stressful.”

  That was the first I had heard it hinted that I was expected to go through the same initiation ceremony as everyone else. It irked me but I was too tired to protest. I just lay there while Ram borrowed fire and rice and prepared a meal. Several jamadars came to pay their respects. Ram
warned them off. No priests came. By then I had sunk into a lassitude so deep I did not bother to ask Ram if that was significant.

  I caught movement from the corner of an eye, a watcher where none should be. I turned, caught a glimpse of a face.

  That was no Deceiver. I had not seen that face since before the fighting that had cost me Croaker. Frogface, they called him. An imp. What was he doing here?

  I could not catch him. I was way too weak. Nothing I could do but keep him in mind. I fell asleep as soon as I’d eaten.

  Drums wakened me. They were drums with deep voices, the kind men sound by pounding with fists or palms. Boom! Boom! Boom! No respite. Ram told me they would not let up till next dawn. Other drums with deeper voices joined them. I peered out of the crude lean-to Ram had built for me. One was not far away. The man pounding the drum used padded mallets with handles four feet long. There was one such drum at each of the wind’s four quarters.

  More drums throbbed within the temple. Ram assured me it had been cleansed and sanctified.

  I did not much care. I was as sick as ever I had been. My night had been filled with the darkest dreams yet, dreams in which the whole world suffered from advanced leprosy. The smell lingered in my nostrils, worsening the sickness.

  Ram had anticipated my condition. Maybe he had watched me in my sleep, predicting my sickness from how I rested. I don’t know. But he put up a crude privacy screen so I would not become a public entertainment. ‘

  I was past the worst when Narayan came. “If you don’t go see a physician after this I’ll personally drag you to Taglios. Mistress. There’s no reason not to take the time.”

  “I will. I will. You can count on it.”

  “I do. You’re important to me. You’re our future.”

  Chanting began in the temple. “Why is it different this time?”

  “So much to crowd in. Ceremonial obligations and initiations. You won’t have to do anything till tonight. Rest. And you’ll rest again tomorrow if the ceremony wears you out.”

  Just lying around. Nothing to do. That was a strain itself. I could not recall a time when I’d had nothing to do but lie around. Once I got control of my nausea I tried to extend and stretch my talents.

  They were coming back almost of their own accord. I was capable of more than I suspected. I was close to being a match for the wizard Smoke, now.

  Good news must be balanced by bad, I suppose. My elation died when I looked up from cupped palms and found myself caught in a dream right there in broad daylight.

  I could see both the horror of the worst dream and the grove around me. Neither seemed completely real. Neither was more substantial than the other.

  I went from the caverns of death to a plain of death. I had gone there only rarely. I associated that plain with the battle during which Kina had devoured hordes of demons. A great black figure strode across the plain, her movements stylized, like Gunni dances. Each step shook the plain. I felt the shaking. It was as real as an earthquake.

  She wore nothing. Her shape was not quite human. She had four arms and eight breasts. Each hand clutched something suggestive of death or warfare. She wore a necklace of baby skulls. From her girdle, like bunches of withered bananas, hung strings of what I first took to be severed thumbs but which, as she stamped closer, proved to be more singular and potent male appendages.

  Her hairless head was shaped more like an egg than a human head. At first it impressed me as insectoid but she had a mouth like that of a carnivore. Blood dribbled down her chin. Her eyes were large and filled with fire.

  The stench of old death preceded her.

  That unexpected apparition shook me to the core.

  And from some corner of memory Croaker stepped with his irreverent and sarcastic outlook. Old Busybody smells ripe for her centennial bath. Might even be time for her to brush her teeth.

  The thought was so startling I looked around. Had someone spoken?

  I was alone. It was just a thought in his style, loosened by the strain. When I looked forward again the apparition had faded. I shuddered.

  The smell lingered. It was not imaginary. A man passing stopped, startled. He sniffed, looked odd, hurried off. I shuddered again.

  Was that how it would be? Dreams awake and asleep, both?

  I shuddered a third time, frightened. My will was not strong enough to resist that.

  Several times during the day the stench came back. Mercifully, the apparition did not accompany it. I did not make myself vulnerable by opening channels of power again.

  Narayan came when it was time. I had not seen him since morning. He had not seen me. He looked at me oddly. I asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “There’s something... An aura? Yes. You feel like the Daughter of Night should feel.” He became embarrassed. “The initiations start in an hour. I talked to the priests. No woman has ever joined us before. There are no precedents. They decided you’ll have to face it the way everyone does.”

  “I take it that’s not...”

  “The candidates stand naked before Kina while she judges their worthiness.”

  “I see.” To say I was not thrilled would be an understatement, though, initially, my objection was a matter of vanity. I looked like hell. Like a famine victim, withering limbs and bloating belly. We’d seldom eaten well since we had fled from Dejagore.

  I gave it some thought. It presented me with little choice, really. If I refused to disrobe, I suspected, I would not leave the grove alive. And I needed the Stranglers. I had plans for them. “I’ll do what has to be done.”

  Narayan was relieved. “You won’t have to expose yourself to everyone.”

  “No? Just to the priests and jamadars and other candidates and whoever is helping put on the show?”

  “It’s been arranged. There will be six candidates, the minimum permitted. There will be one high priest, his assistant, one jamadar as chief Strangler, with orders to strike down any chanter who raises his eyes from the floor. You may pick those three men yourself if you like.”

  Odd. “Why so thoughtful?”

  Narayan whispered, “I shouldn’t tell you. Opinion is divided about whether you’re the true Daughter of Night. Those who do believe expect you to have the priest, his assistant, and the chief Strangler put to death after Kina bestows her favor. They want to risk the minimum number of men.”

  “What about the other candidates?”

  “They won’t remember.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll be among the chanters as your sponsor.”

  “I see.” I wondered what would happen to him if I failed. “I don’t care who the priests and Strangler are.

  He grinned. “Excellent, Mistress. You must prepare. Ram. Help me put the screen up again. Mistress, this is the robe you’ll wear till you stand before the goddess.” He handed me a white bundle. The robe looked like it had been used for generations without having been mended or cleaned.

  I got ready.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  The temple had changed inside. Fires burned, dull and red, around the perimeter. Their light sent shadows skulking over ugly carvings. A huge idol had materialized. It was a close representation of the thing from my vision, although equipped with an ornate headdress loaded with gold and silver and gemstones. The idol’s eyes were cabochon rubies, each a nation’s ransom. Its fangs were crystal.

  Three heads lay under the idol’s raised left foot. Priests were dragging a corpse away when my group of candidates entered. The dead man had been tortured before he had been beheaded.

  Ten men lay on their faces to the right, ten more to the left. A four-foot aisle passed between groups. I recognized Narayan’s back. The twenty chanted continuously, “Come O Kina unto the world and make Thy Children whole we beseech Thee Great Mother,” so swiftly the words ran together. I was last in line. The chief Strangler stepped into the aisle behind me, black rumel in hand. I suspect his main function was to stop a candidate who developed cold feet, not to eliminate
chanters who peeped.

  Twenty feet of clear space lay between the chanters and the dais where the goddess stood. The three heads lay at eye level. Two appeared to watch our approach. The third stared at the sole of Kina’s foot, clawed toes inches from its nose.

  Two priests stood to my right, beside a tall stand supporting several golden vessels.

  The ceremony started out basic. Each candidate reached a mark and dropped his robe, moved to another mark on a line, abased himself and murmured a ritual prayer. The prayer just petitioned Kina to accept the appellant: in the last case, me, as her daughter. But when I spoke the words a gust of wind blew through. A new presence filled the place. It was cold and hungry and carried the smell of carrion. The assistant priest jumped. This was not customary.

  We candidates rose, knelt with our palms resting atop our thighs. The head priest ran through some extended rigamarole in a language neither Taglian nor Deceivers’ cant. He presented us to the idol as though it were Kina herself. While he yammered, his assistant poured dark fluid from a tall spouted container into one like a gravy boat. Once he stopped chattering the head priest made holy passes over that smaller vessel, lifted it, presented it to the goddess, went to the far end of the line, placed the pouring end of the vessel to the candidate’s lips and filled his mouth. The man had his eyes closed. He swallowed.

  The next man took his with his eyes open. He choked. The priest showed no reaction, nor did he when two more men did the same.

  My turn.

  Narayan was a liar. He had prepared me but he had told me it was all illusion. This was no illusion. It was blood-with some drug added that gave it a slightly herby, bitter taste. Human blood? I do not know. Our seeing that body dragged away was no accident. We were supposed to think about it.

  I got through it. I’d never endured anything like it but I’d been through terrible things before. I neither hesitated nor twitched. I told myself I was just minutes from taking control of the most terrible power in this end of the world.

  That presence moved again.

  It might take control of me.