Dreams of Steel

by Glen Cook

  The imp said nothing. No answer was expected.

  “Why do this during the daytime?”

  “Longshadow is scared to death of what might break out if he tried during the night.”

  “Ah. Yes. But they won’t move till nightfall. They’ll want their sending at full strength.”

  Frogface muttered something about just how much did he have to do to earn his freedom?

  Soulcatcher laughed, a merry little girl’s laugh. “Tonight, I think, you’ll have done with me. If you can do a creditable illusion of me.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s have a look around this city first. What’s its name?”

  “Dhar. New Dhar, really. Old Dhar was levelled by the Shadowmasters for resisting too strongly back when they first conquered this country.”

  “Interesting. What do they think of the Shadowmasters?”

  “Not much.”

  “And a new generation is at hand. This could be amusing.”

  When darkness fell the great public square at the heart of New Dhar was strangely empty and silent, except for the cawing and fluttering of crows. All who approached developed chills and dreads and decided to come another time.

  A woman sat on the edge of a fountain paddling her fingers through the water. Crows swarmed around her, coming and going. From the shadows at the square’s edge another figure watched. This one seemed to be a gnarled old crone, folded up against a wall, her rags clutched tightly against, the evening cool. Both women seemed content to stay where they were indefinitely.

  They were patient, those two.

  Patience was rewarded.

  The shadow came at midnight, a big, dreadful thing, a terrible juggernaut of darkness that could be sensed while still miles away. Even the untalented of New Dhar felt it. Children cried. Mothers shushed them. Fathers barred their doors and looked for places to hide their babies and wives.

  The shadow roared into the city and swept toward the square. Crows squawked and dipped around it.

  It bore straight down on the woman at the fountain, dreadful and implacable.

  The woman laughed at it. And vanished as it sprang upon her.

  Crows mocked.

  The woman laughed from the far side of the square.

  The shadow surged, struck. But the woman was not there. She laughed from behind it.

  Frogface, pretending to be Soulcatcher, led the shadow around the city for an hour, took it into places where it would destroy and kill and be recognized and fire hatreds long and carefully banked. The shadow was tireless and persistent but not very bright. It just kept coming, indifferent to what effect it had on the population, waiting for its quarry to make a mistake.

  The crone on the edge of the square rose slowly, hobbled to the palace of Longshadow’s local governor, entered past soldiers and sentries apparently blind. She hobbled down to the strongroom where the governor stored the treasures he wrested from the peoples in his charge, opened a massive door none but the governor supposedly could open. Once inside she became not a crone but Soulcatcher in a rnerry mood.

  She had studied the shadow carefully while Frogface led it about. That shadow had to travel all the distance between two points. Frogface did not. He could stay ahead forever as long as he remained alert,

  Her studies had shown her how she might contain it.

  She spent an hour preparing the vault so it would keep the shadow in, then another arranging a peck of little spells that should distract it so that, by the time someone released it, it would have forgotten why it had come to New Dhar.

  She stepped outside, closed the door till it stood open only a crack, arranged an illusion that made her look like one of the governor’s soldiers. Then she sent a thought spinning toward Frogface.

  The imp came prancing, enjoying himself, taunting his hunter into the trap. Soulcatcher shoved the door shut behind it, sealed it up. Frogface popped into existence beside her, grinning. “That was almost fun. If I didn’t have business in my own world I’d almost want to hang around another hundred years. Never a dull moment with you.”

  “Is that a hint?”

  “You bet it is, sweetie. I’m going to miss you all, you and the Captain and all your friends. Maybe I’ll come back and visit. But I got business elsewhere.”

  Soulcatcher giggled her little girl’s giggle. “All right. Stay with me till I’m out of the city. Then you’re free to go. Wow! I bet this place blows up! I wish I could see Longshadow’s face when he gets the news.” She laughed. “He isn’t half as bright as he thinks. You have any friends over there who might want to work for me?”

  “Maybe one or two with the right sense of mischief. I’ll see.”

  They walked on laughing like children who had pulled a prank.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Pregnant.

  No doubt about it. Everything fell into place once the physician gave me that word. Everything made sense. And nonsense.

  One time. One night. It never occurred to me that that could happen to me. But here I am swollen up like a gourd on toothpicks, sitting in my fortress south of Taglios, writing these Annals, watching the rains fall for the fifth month running, wishing it was possible to sleep on my stomach or side, or to be able to walk without waddling.

  The Radisha has provided me with a whole crew of women. They find me amusing. I come back from trying to teach their menfolk something about soldiering and they point at me and tell me this is why women don’t become generals and whatnot; it is hard to be light on your feet when you can’t see them for your belly.

  The baby is an active little thing, whatever it will be. Maybe it is practicing to be a long distance runner or a professional wrestler, the way it hops around in there.

  My timing seems to be good. I have gotten almost everything I have to record written. If, as the women promise me, all my fears and doubts come to nothing and I survive this, I will have five or six weeks to get into shape before the rivers go down and the new campaign season begins.

  Regular messages come from Croaker at Dejagore, thrown across the river by catapult. It is quiet down there. He wishes he could be here. I wish he could be here. That would make it easier. I know the day that the Main is down enough to cross I will be on the north bank and he will be there on the south.

  I am feeling very positive these days, like not even my sister can ruin things now. She knows about this. Her crows have been watching. I have let them, hoping it irks the devil out of her.

  Here is Ram, back from his bath. I swear, the closer I get to my date the worse he gets. You would think it was his child.

  He is scared to death that what happened to his wife and baby will happen to me and mine. I think. He has grown a little strange, almost haunted. He is terrified of something. He jumps at every little sound. He searches the corners and shadows every time he enters a room.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Ram was scared with good reason. He had learned something he should not have. He knew something he was not supposed to know.

  Ram is dead.

  Ram died fighting his Strangler brothers when they came to take my daughter.

  Narayan is a dead man. He is walking around somewhere out there, maybe grinning that grin, but he will not wear it long. He will be found, if not by soldiers hunting men with indelible red stains on their palms, then by me. He has no idea how strongly my powers have returned. I will find him and he will become a sainted Strangler much earlier than he would like.

  I should have been more wary. I knew he had his own agenda. I have been around treacherous men all my life. But never, ever, did it occur to me that, from the beginning, he and his ranking cronies were interested in the child developing within me instead of in me myself. He was a consummate actor.

  Grinning bastard. He was a true Deceiver.

  I never even chose a name before they collected their Daughter of Night.

  I should have suspected when the dreams went away so suddenly. As soon as I had been through t
hat ceremony. I was not the one consecrated there. I did not change. I could not be marked that easily.

  Ram was only a yellow rumel man but he knew they were coming. He killed four of them. Then Narayan killed him, according to the women. Then Narayan and his band fought their way out of the fortress. All while I still lay unconscious.

  Narayan will pay. I will tear his heart out and use it to choke his goddess. They do not know what they have awakened. My strength has returned. They will pay. Longshadow, my sister, the Deceivers, Kina herself if she gets in my way.

  Their Year of the Skulls is upon them.

  I close the Book of Lady.

  Envoi: Down There

  Incessant wind sweeps the plain of stone. It murmurs across pale grey paving that sprawls from horizon to horizon. It sings around scattered pillars. It tumbles leaves and dust come from afar and stirs the long black hair of a corpse that has lain undisturbed for generations, desiccating. Playfully, the wind tosses a leaf into the corpse’s silently screaming mouth, tugs it out again.

  The pillars might be thought the remnants of a fallen city. They are not. They are too sparsely and randomly placed. Nor are any of them toppled or broken, though some have been etched deeply by gnawing ages of wind.

  And some seem nearly new. A century old at most.

  In the dawn, and at the setting of the sun, parts of those columns catch the light and gleam golden. For a few minutes each day auric characters burn forth from their faces.

  For those remembered it is immortality of a sort.

  In the night the winds die and silence rules the place of glittering stone.

  To Be Continued in Glittering Stone...