The White Rose

by Glen Cook

  He looked like getting stubborn again.

  “You have a choice, of course. You can die an unpleasant death instead.”

  “I don’t think he believes you, Croaker. I’d better give him a taste.”

  Case’s expression told me he did believe. The more he thought about who we were, the more terrified he became.

  How had we developed such a fierce reputation? I guess stories grow in the retelling. “I think he’ll cooperate. Right, son?”

  He nodded, stubbornness dead.

  He looked like a good kid. Too bad he had given his loyalty to the other side.

  “Do it, One-Eye. Let’s get on with this.”

  While One-Eye worked, Goblin asked, “What do we do after we finish here, Croaker?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Play it by ear. Right now don’t worry about the mules, just load the wagon. Step at a time.. Step at a time.”

  “Ready,” One-Eye said.

  I beckoned the youth, opened the outside door. “Get out there and do it, kid.” I patted his behind. He went, but with a look that could have curdled milk.

  “He’s not happy with you. Croaker.”

  “Screw it. Get in there with Raven. Do what you have to do. Time is wasting. Come daylight this place will see some life.”

  I watched Case. Tracker guarded the door to the room. No one interrupted us. Case eventually found what I wanted, slipped away from the work detail. “Good job, son,” I told him, taking the box. “In the room with your friend.”

  We entered moments before One-Eye came out of a trance. “Well?” I asked.

  He took a moment to orient himself. “Going to be harder than I thought. But I think we can bring him out.” He indicated the chart Goblin had spread atop Raven’s stomach. “He’s about here, caught, just inside the inner circle.” He shook his head. “You ever hear him tell about having any background in the trade?”

  “No. But there were times I wondered. Like in Roses, when he tracked Raker through a snowstorm.”

  “He learned something somewhere. Weren’t no parlor trick, what he did. But it was too big for his skills.” For a moment he was thoughtful. “It’s weird in there. Croaker. Really weird. He isn’t alone by a long shot. Won’t be able to give you any details till we go in ourselves but …”

  “What? Wait. Go in yourselves? What’re you talking about?”

  “Figured you understood Goblin and I would have to follow him in. In order to bring him out.”

  “Why both of you?”

  “One to cover in case the point man gets in trouble.”

  Goblin nodded. They were all business now. Meaning they were scared crapless.

  “How long is all this going to take?”

  “No telling. Quite a while. We ought to get out of here first. Out in the woods.”

  I wanted to argue but did not. Instead, I went and checked the compound.

  They had begun bringing the bodies out of the rubble. I watched a while, got an idea. Five minutes later Case and I stepped out carrying a litter. A blanket covered what appeared to be a large broken body. Goblin’s face lay exposed. He did a great corpse. One-Eye’s feet stuck out the other end. Tracker carried Raven.

  The documents were under the blanket with Goblin and One-Eye.

  I did not expect to pull it off. But the grim business around the collapsed building preoccupied the Guard. They had reached the cellars.

  I did get challenged at the compound gate. Goblin used his sleep spell. I doubted we would be remembered. Civilians were all over, helping and hindering the rescue effort.

  That was the bad news. A few down in that cellar were still alive.

  “Goblin, you and One-Eye get our gear. Take the kid. Tracker and I will get the wagon.”

  All went well. Too well, I thought, being naturally pessimistic after the way things had been going. We put Raven in the wagon and headed south.

  The moment we entered the forest One-Eye said, “So we’ve made our getaway. Now. About Raven?”

  I was without a single idea. “You call it. How close do you have to be?”

  “Very.” He saw I was thinking about getting out of the country first. “Darling?”

  The reminder was unnecessary.

  I won’t say Raven was the center of her life. She will not discuss him except in the most general way. But there are nights she cries herself to sleep, remembering something. If it is for loss of Raven, we could not bring him home like this. It would break her heart all the way.

  Anyway, we needed him now. He knew better than we what the hell was going on.

  I appealed to Tracker for suggestions. He had none. He did not, in fact, appear pleased with what we planned. Like he expected Raven to become competition, or something.

  “We’ve got him,” One-Eye said, indicating Case, whom we had dragged along rather than leave dead. “Let’s use him.”

  Good idea.

  Twenty minutes later we had the wagon well off the road, up on rocks so it would not sink into the soggy earth. One-Eye and Goblin wound spells of concealment around it and camouflaged it with brush. We piled gear into packs, placed Raven on the litter. Case and I carried him. Tracker and Toadkiller Dog led us through the woods.

  It could not have been more than three miles, yet I ached everywhere before we finished. Too old. Too out of shape. And the weather was one-hundred-ninety-proof misery. I had had enough rain to last me the rest of my life. Tracker led us to a place just east of the Barrowland. I could walk downhill a hundred yards and see its remnants. I could walk a hundred yards the other way and see the Great Tragic. Only the one narrow stretch of high ground barred it from reaching the Barrowland.

  We got tents up and boughs inside so we did not have to sit on wet earth. Goblin and One-Eye took the smaller tent. The rest of us crowded into the other. Once reasonably free of the rain, I settled down to probe the rescued documents. First to catch my eye was an oilskin packet. “Case. This the letter Raven wanted you to deliver?”

  He nodded sullenly. He was not talking.

  Poor boy. He believed he was guilty of treason. I hoped he wouldn’t get a case of the heroics.

  Well, might as well keep busy while Goblin and One-Eye did their job. Start with the easy part first.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: BOMANZ’S STORY

  Croaker:

  Bomanz faced the Lady from another angle. He saw a ghost of fear touch her matchless features. “Ardath,” he said, and saw her fear become resignation.

  Ardath was my sister.

  “You had a twin. You murdered her and took her name. Your true name is Ardath.”

  You will regret this. I will find your name …

  “Why do you threaten me? I mean you no harm.”

  You harm me by thwarting me. Free me.

  “Come, come. Don’t be childish. Why force my hand? That will cost us both agony and energy. I only want to rediscover the knowledge interred with you. Teaching me will cost you nothing. It won’t harm you. It might even prepare the world for your return.”

  The world prepares already. Bomanz!

  He chuckled. “That’s a mask, like the antiquarian. That’s not my name. Ardath. Must we fight?”

  Wise men say to accept the inevitable with grace. If I must, I must. I will try to be gracious.

  When pigs fly, Bomanz thought.

  The Lady’s smile was mocking. She sent something. He did not catch it. Other voices filled his mind. For an instant he thought the Dominator was awakening. But the voices were in his physical ears, back at the house. “Oh, damn!”

  Wind-chimes mirth.

  “Clete is in position.” The voice was Tokar’s. Its presence in the attic enraged Bomanz. He started running.

  “Help me get him out of the chair.” Stancil.

  “Won’t you wake him up?” Glory.

  “His spirit is out in the Barrowland. He won’t know anything unless we run into each other out there.”

  Wrong, Bomanz thought. Wrong, you insidious, u
ngrateful wart. Your old man isn’t stupid. He responds to the signs even when he doesn’t want to see them.

  The dragon’s head swung as he hurtled past. Mockery pursued him. The hatred of dead knights pounded him as he hurried on.

  “Get him into the corner. Toker, the amulet is under the hearthstone in the shack. That damned Men fu! He almost blew it. I want to get my hands on the fool who sent him up here. That greedy idiot wasn’t interested in anything but himself.”

  “At least he took the Monitor with him.” Glory.

  “Pure accident. Pure luck.”

  “The time. The time,” Tokar said. “Clete’s men are hitting the barracks.”

  “Get out of here, then. Glory, will you do something besides stare at the old man? I’ve got to get in there before Tokar reaches the Barrowland. The Great Ones have to be told what we’re doing.”

  Bomanz passed the barrow of Moondog. He felt the restlessness within. He raced on.

  A ghost danced beside him. A slump-shouldered, evil-faced ghost who damned him a thousand times. “I don’t have time for it, Besand. But you were right.” He crossed the old moat, passed his dig. Strangers dotted the landscape. Resurrectionist strangers. Where had they come from? Out of hiding in the Old Forest?

  Faster. Got to go faster, he thought. That fool Stance is going to try to follow me in.

  He ran like nightmare, floating through subjectively eternal steps. The comet glared down. It felt strong enough to cast shadows.

  “Read the instructions again to make sure,” Stancil said. “Timing isn’t critical as long as you don’t do anything early.”

  “Shouldn’t we tie him up or something? Just in case?”

  “We don’t have time. Don’t worry about him. He won’t come out till way too late.”

  “He makes me nervous.”

  “Then throw a rug over him and come on. And try to keep your voice down. You don’t want to waken Mother.”

  Bomanz charged the lights of the town … It occurred to him that in this state he did not have to be a stubby-legged fat man short on breath. He changed his perception and his velocity increased. Soon he encountered Tokar, who was trotting toward the Barrowiand with Besand’s amulet. Bomanz judged his own startling swiftness by Tokar’s apparent sluggishness. He was moving fast.

  Headquarters was afire. There was heavy fighting around the barracks. Tokar’s teamsters were leading the attackers. A few Guardsmen had broken out of the trap. Trouble was seeping into the town.

  Bomanz reached his shop. Upstairs, Stancil told Glory, “Begin now.” As Bo started up the stair, Stancil said, “Dumni. Um muji dumni.” Bomanz smashed into his own body. He seized command of his muscles, surged off the floor.

  Glory shrieked.

  Bomanz hurled her toward a wall. Her career shattered priceless antiques.

  Bomanz squealed in agony as all the pains of an old body hit his consciousness. Damn! His ulcer was tearing his gut apart!

  He seized his son’s throat as he turned, silencing him before he finished the cantrip.

  Stancil was younger, stronger. He rose. And Glory threw herself at Bomanz. Bomanz darted backward. “Don’t anybody move,” he snapped.

  Stancil rubbed his throat and croaked something.

  “You don’t think I would? Try me. I don’t care who you are. You’re not going to free that thing out there.”

  “How did you know?” Stancil croaked.

  “You’ve been acting strange. You have strange friends. I hoped I was wrong, but I don’t take chances. You should have remembered that.”

  Stancil drew a knife. His eyes hardened. “I’m sorry, Pop. Some things are more important than people.”

  Bomanz’s temples throbbed. “Behave yourself. I don’t have time for this. I have to stop Tokar.”

  Glory drew a knife of her own. She sidled a step closer.

  “You’re trying my patience, son.”

  The girl jumped. Bomanz uttered a word of power. She plunged headlong into the table slid to the floor, almost inhumanly limp. In seconds she was limper still. She mewled like an injured kitten.

  Stancil dropped to one knee. “I’m sorry, Glory. I’m sorry.”

  Bomanz ignored his own emotional agony. He salvaged the quicksilver spilled from the bowl that had been atop the table, mouthed words which transformed its surface into a mirror of events afar.

  Tokar was two thirds of the way to the Barrowland.

  “You killed her,” Stancil said. “You killed her.”

  “I warned you, this is a cruel business.” And: “You made a bet and lost. Sit your butt in the corner and behave.”

  “You killed her.”

  Remorse smashed in even before his son forced him to act. He tried to soften the impact, but the melting of bones was all or nothing.

  Stancil fell across his lover.

  His father fell to his knees beside him. “Why did you make me do it? You fools. You bloody damned fools! You were using me. You didn’t have sense enough to make sure of me, and you want to deal with something like the Lady? I don’t know. I don’t know. What am I going to tell Jasmine? How can I explain?” He looked around wildly, an animal tormented. “Kill myself. That’s all I can do. Save her the pain of learning what her son was … Can’t. Got to stop Tokar.”

  There was fighting in the street outside. Bomanz ignored it. He scrabbled after quicksilver.

  Tokar was at the edge of the moat, staring into the Barrowland. Bomanz saw the fear and uncertainty in him.

  Tokar found his courage. He gripped the amulet and crossed the line.

  Bomanz began building a killing sending.

  His glance crossed the doorway, spied a frightened Snoopy watching from the dark landing. “Oh, child. Child, get out of here.”

  “I’m scared. They’re killing each other outside.”

  We’re killing each other in here, too, he thought. Please go away. “Go find Jasmine.”

  A horrendous crash came from the shop. Men cursed. Steel met steel. Bomanz heard the voice of one of Tokar’s teamsters. The man was deploying a defense of the house.

  The Guard had made a comeback.

  Snoopy whimpered.

  “Stay out of here, child. Stay out. Go down with Jasmine.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “So am I. And I won’t be able to help if you get in my way. Please go downstairs.”

  She ground her teeth and rattled away. Bomanz sighed. That was close. If she had seen Stance and Glory …

  The uproar redoubled. Men screamed. Bomanz heard Corporal Husky bellowing orders. He turned to the bowl. Tokar had disappeared. He could not relocate the man. In passing he surveyed the land between the town and the Barrowland. A few Resurrectionists were rushing toward the fighting, apparently to help. Others were in headlong flight. Remnants of the Guard were in pursuit.

  Boots pounded upstairs. Again Bomanz interrupted the preparation of his sending. Husky appeared in the doorway. Bomanz started to order him out. He was in no mood to argue. He swung a great bloody sword …

  Bomanz used the word of power. Again a man’s bones turned to jelly. Then again and again as Husky’s troopers tried to avenge him. Bomanz dropped four before the rush ended.

  He tried to get back to his sending....

  This time the interruption was nothing physical. It was a reverberation along the pathway he had opened into the Lady’s crypt. Tokar was on the Great Barrow and in contact with the creature it contained.

  “Too late,” he murmured. “Too damned late.” But he made the sending anyway. Maybe Tokar would die before he could release those monsters.

  Jasmine cursed. Snoopy screamed. Bomanz piled over the fallen Guardsmen and charged downstairs. Snoopy screamed again.

  Bo entered his bedroom. One of Tokar’s men held a knife across Jasmine’s throat. A pair of Guardsmen sought an opening.

  Bomanz had no patience left. He killed all three. The house rattled. Teacups clinked in the kitchen. It was a gentle tremor, but a
harbinger strong enough to warn Bomanz. His sending had not arrived in time. Resigned, he said, “Get out of the house. There’s igoing to be a quake.”

  Jasmine looked at him askance. She held the hysterical girl.

  “I’ll explain later. If we survive. Just get out of the house.” He whirled and dashed into the street, charged toward the Barrowland.

  Imagining himself tall and lean and fleet did no good now. He was Bomanz in the flesh, a short, fat old man easily winded. He fell twice as tremors shook the town. Each was stronger than the last.

  The fires still burned, but the fighting had died away. The survivors on both sides knew it was too late for a decision of the sword. They stared toward the Barrowland, awaiting the unfolding of events.

  Bomanz joined the watchers.

  The comet burned so brightly the Barrowland was clearly illuminated.

  A tremendous shock rattled the earth. Bomanz staggered. Out on the Barrowland the mound containing Soulcatcher exploded. A painful glow burned from within. A figure rose from the rubble, stood limned against the glow.

  People prayed or cursed according to predilection.

  The tremors continued. Barrow after barrow opened. One by one, the Ten Who Were Taken appeared against the night. “Tokar,” Bomanz murmured, “I hope you rot in Hell.”

  There was only one chance left. One impossible chance. It rode on the time-bowed shoulders of a pudgy little man whose powers were not at their sharpest.

  He marshaled his most potent spells, his greatest magicks, all the mystical tricks he had worked out during thirty-seven years worth of lonely nights. And he started walking toward the Barrowland.

  Hands reached out to detain him. They found no purchase. From the crowd an old woman called, “Bo, no! Please!”

  He kept walking.

  The Barrowland seethed. Ghosts howled among the ruins. The Great Barrow shook its hump. Earth exploded upward, flaming. A great winged serpent rose against the night. A great scream poured from its mouth. Torrents of dragonfire inundated the Barrowland.

  Wise green eyes watched Bomanz’s progress.

  The fat little man walked into the holocaust, unleashing his arsenal of spells. Fire enveloped him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five: THE BARROWLAND, FROM BAD TO WORSE