The White Rose

by Glen Cook

  Returning Raven’s letter to the oilskin, I lay back on my bough bed, let my mind go blank. So dramatic, the way Raven told it. I wondered about his sources, though. The wife? Someone had to note the tale’s ending and had to hide what was found later. What had become of the wife, anyway? She has no place in legend. Neither does the son, for that matter. The popular stories mention only Bomanz himself.

  Something there, though. Something I missed? Ah. Yes. A congruence with personal experience. The name Bomanz had relied upon. The one that, evidently, proved insufficiently powerful.

  I’d heard it before. In equally furious circumstances.

  In Juniper, as the contest between the Lady and the Domi-nator neared its climax, with her ensconced in a castle on one side of the city and the Dominator trying to escape through another on the far side, we discovered the Taken meant to do the Company evil once the crisis subsided. Under orders from the Captain we deserted. We seized a ship. As we sailed away, with husband and wife contesting above the burning city, the struggle peaked. The Lady proved the stronger.

  The voice of the Dominator shook the world as he vented a last spate of frustration. He had called her by the name Bomanz had thought puissant. Apparently, even the Dominator could be mistaken.

  One sister killed another and, maybe or maybe not, took her place. Soulcatcher, our one-time mentor and plotter to usurp the Lady, it proved during the great struggle at Charm, was another sister. Three sisters, then. At least. One named Ardath, but evidently not the one who became the Lady.

  Maybe the beginnings of something here. All those lists, back in the Hole. And the genealogies. Find a woman named Ardath. Then discover who her sisters were.

  “It’s a beginning,” I murmured. “Feeble, but a beginning.”

  “What?”

  I had forgotten Case. He had not taken advantage. I suppose he was too frightened.

  “Nothing.” It had grown dark outside. The drizzle persisted. Out on the Barrowland ghostly lights drifted about. I shuddered. That did not seem right. I wondered how Goblin and One-Eye were getting on. I did not dare go ask. Over in a corner Tracker snored softly. Toadkiller Dog lay against his belly, making sleeping dog noises, but I caught a glint of eye which said he was not unalert.

  I invested a little more attention in Case. He was shaking, and not just with the chill. He was sure we would kill him. I reached over, rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, son. You won’t be harmed. We owe you for looking out for Raven.”

  “He’s really Raven? The Raven that was the White Rose’s father?”

  The lad knew the legends. “Yeah. Foster-father, though.”

  “Then he didn’t lie about everything. He was in the Forsberg campaigns.”

  That struck me as humorous. I chuckled, then said, “Knowing Raven, he didn’t lie about much. Just edited the truth.”

  “You’ll really let me go?”

  “When we’re safe.”

  “Oh.” He did not sound reassured.

  “Let’s say when we get to the edge of the Plain of Fear. You’ll find plenty of friends out there.”

  He wanted to get into a quasi-political discussion about why we insisted on resisting the Lady. I refused. I am no evangelist. I can’t make converts. I have too much trouble understanding myself and unravelling my own motives. Maybe Raven could explain after Goblin and One-Eye brought him out.

  The night seemed endless, but after three eternities which took me up to midnight I heard unsteady footsteps. “Croaker?”

  “In,” I said. It was Goblin. Without a light I could not read him well, but got the impression that his news was not good. “Trouble?”

  “Yes. We can’t get him out.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean?”

  “I mean we don’t have the skills. We don’t have the talent. This’s going to take someone bigger than we are. We aren’t much, Croaker. Showmen. With a few handy spells. Maybe Silent could do something. His is a different sort of magic.”

  “Maybe you’d better back up. Where’s One-Eye?”

  “Resting. It was rough on him. Really rocked him, what he saw in there.”

  “What was that?”

  “I don’t know. I was just his lifeline. And I had to pull him out before he got trapped, too. All I know is, we can’t get Raven without help.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Double damned floating sheep shit. Goblin, we can’t win this one unless we have Raven to help. I don’t have what it takes either. I’ll never translate half those papers.”

  “Not even with Tracker’s help?”

  “He reads TelleKurre. That’s it. I can do that, only I take longer. Raven must know the dialects. Some of the stuff he was translating was in them. Also, there’s the question of what he was doing here. Why he faked his death again and took off. On Darling.”

  Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. I do that. Or maybe I was indulging in the human penchant for oversimplification, figuring that if we just had Raven back our troubles were solved. “What are we going to do?” I wondered aloud.

  Goblin rose. “I don’t know, Croaker. Let’s let One-Eye get his feet under him again and find out what we’re up against. We can go from there.” “Right.”

  He slipped out. I lay down and tried to sleep. Whenever I dropped off I had nightmares about the thing lying in the mud and slime the Barrowland had become.

  Chapter Thirty-Six: HARD TIMES

  One-Eye looked gruesome. “It was grim,” he said. “Get the chart out. Croaker.” I did. He indicated a point. “He’s here. And stuck. Looks like he went all the way to the center along Bomanz’s trail, then got in trouble on his way out.”

  “How? I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

  “I wish you could go in there. A realm of terrible shadows … Guess I should be glad you can’t. You’d try it.”

  “What’s that crack mean?”

  “Mean’s you’re too curious for your own good. Like old Bomanz. No. Be still.” He paused a moment.

  “Croaker, something that was trapped there, one of the minions of the Taken, was situated near Bomanz’s path. He was too strong for it. But Raven was an amateur. I think Goblin, Silent, and I together would have trouble with this thing, and we’re more skilled than Raven could be. He underestimated the dangers and overestimated himself. As he was leaving, this thing usurped his position and left him in its place.”

  I frowned, not quite understanding.

  One-Eye explained, “Something used him to keep the balance of the old spells. So he’s stuck in a net of old-time sorcery. And it’s out here.”

  A sinking feeling. A feeling edging despair. “Out? And you don’t know? …”

  “Nothing. The chart indicates nothing. Bomanz must have been contemptuous of the lesser evils. He hasn’t marked a dozen. There should have been scores.”

  The literature supported that. “What did he tell you? Were you able to communicate?”

  “No. He was aware of a presence. But he’s in a sinkhole of spells. I couldn’t contact him without getting caught myself. There’s a small imbalance there, like what went out might have been a hair more than what stayed in. I did try to get close to him. That was why Goblin had to yank me out. I did sense a great fear, not due to his situation. Only anger there. I think he got caught only because he was in so big a hurry he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings.”

  I got the message. Been to the center, and in flight. What lay at the center? “You think whatever got away might try to open the Great Barrow?” “It might try engineering it.”

  I had a brainstorm. “Why not sneak Darling out here? She could …”

  One-Eye gave me a don’t-be-stupid look. Right. Raven was the least of the things a null would loose.

  “The big guy would love that,” Goblin chided. “Purely love it.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for Raven here.” One-Eye said. “Someday we might find a wizard who can. Till then?” He shrugge
d. “Better make a pact of silence. Darling might forget her mission if she finds out.” “Agreed,” I said. Then: “But …” “But what?” i “I’ve been thinking about that. Darling and Raven. There’s something there we don’t see, I think. I mean, considering the way he always was, why did he cut out and come here? On the face of it, to sneak around the Lady and her gang. But why would he leave Darling in the dark? You see what I’m saying? Maybe she wouldn’t be as upset as we think. Or maybe for different reasons.”

  One-Eye looked dubious. Goblin nodded. Tracker looked baffled, as usual.

  “What about his body?” I asked.

  “A definite encumbrance,” One-Eye replied. “And I can’t say but what taking him to the Plain might not snap the connection between flesh and spirit.”

  “Stop.” I looked at Case. He looked at me. Here we had another double bind.

  I knew one sure way of solving Raven’s body problem. And of getting him brought out. Betray him to the Lady. That might solve several other problems, too. Like the escaped whatever, and the threat of another escape attempt by her husband. It might buy Darling time, too, for the Lady’s attention would shift dramatically.

  But what would become of Raven then?

  He could be the key to our success or failure. Give him up to save him? Play the very long odds that we could somehow get him in hand again before his knowledge could hurt us? Ever a quandary. Ever a quandary.

  Goblin suggested, “Let’s give it another look. This time I’ll take the point. One-Eye will cover.”

  One-Eye’s sour look said they had had a knock-down-drag-out about this before. I kept my mouth shut. It was their area of expertise.

  “Well?” Goblin demanded.

  “If you think it’s worthwhile.”

  “I do. Anyway, there’s nothing to lose. Different viewpoint might help, too. I might catch something he missed.”

  “Having only one eye don’t blind me,” One-Eye snarled. Goblin glowered. This had arisen before, too.

  “Don’t waste time,” I said. “We can’t stay put forever.”

  Sometimes decisions get made for you.

  Deep in the night. Wind in the trees. Chill fingering into the shelter, waking me to shiver till I fell asleep again. Rain pattering steadily, but not restfully. Gods, was I sick of rain. How could the Eternal Guard maintain any semblance of sanity?

  A hand shook me. Tracker whispered, “Company coming. Trouble.” Toadkiller Dog was at the tent flap, hackles up.

  I listened. Nothing. But no point not taking his word. Better safe than dead. “What about Goblin and One-Eye?”

  “Not finished yet.”

  “Oh-oh.” I scrambled for clothing, for weapons. Tracker said, “I’ll go scout them and try to scare or lead them off. You warn the others. Get ready to run.” He slipped out of the tent behind Toadkiller Dog. Damned beast showed some life now!

  Our whispering wakened Case. Neither of us spoke. I wondered what he would risk. I covered my head with my blanket and left. Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof.

  Into the other tent, where I found both men in trances. “Shit. Now what?” Did I dare try waking One-Eye? Softly: “One-Eye. This is Croaker. We’ve got trouble.”

  Ah. His good eye opened. For a moment he seemed disoriented. Then: “What’re you doing here?”

  “Trouble. Tracker says there’s somebody in the woods.”

  A cry came through the rain. One-Eye bolted upright. “The power!” he spat. “What the hell?”

  “What is it?”

  “Somebody just ripped off a spell almost like one of the Taken.”

  “Can you get Goblin out? Fast?”

  “I can …” Another cry ripped through the woods. This one stretched out and out, and seemed as much of despair as of agony. “I’ll get him.”

  He sounded like all hope had gone.

  Taken. Had to be. Sniffed out our tracks. Closing in. But the cries … First one somebody Tracker ambushed? Second one Tracker gotten? Didn’t sound like him.

  One-Eye lay down and closed his eye. In moments he was back in trance, though his face betrayed the fear on his surface mind. He was good, to go under such tension.

  There was a third cry from the woods. Baffled, I moved to where I could look into the rain. I saw nothing. Moments later Goblin stirred.

  He looked awful. But his determination showed he had gotten the word. He forced himself upright though it was obvious he was not ready. His mouth kept opening and closing. I had a feeling he wanted to tell me something.

  One-Eye came out after him but recovered more quickly. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “Another yell.”

  “Drop everything? Run for it?”

  “We can’t. We have to get some of this stuff back to the Plain. Otherwise we might as well surrender right here.”

  “Right. Get it together. I’ll take care here.”

  Getting things together was not much of a job. I had unpacked very little … Something roared out in the woods. I froze. “What the hell?” Sounded like something bigger than four lions. A moment later there were screams.

  No sense. No sense at all. I could see Tracker raising nine kinds of hell with the Guard, but not if they had one of the Taken with them.

  Goblin and One-Eye showed up as I began knocking the tent down. Goblin still looked like hell. One-Eye carried half his stuff. “Where’s the kid?” he asked.

  I had paid no attention to his absence. It hadn’t surprised me. “Gone. How are we going to carry Raven?”

  My answer stepped out of the woods. Tracker. Looking a little the worse for wear, but still healthy. Toadkiller Dog was covered with blood. He seemed more animated than I had seen before. “Let’s get him out of here,” Tracker said, and moved to take one end of the litter.

  “Your stuff.”

  “No time.”

  “What about the wagon?” I lifted the other end.

  “Forget it. I’m sure they found it. March.”

  We marched, letting him lead the way. I asked, “What was all that uproar?”

  “Caught them by surprise.”

  “But …”

  “Even the Taken can be surprised. Save your breath. He isn’t dead.”

  For a few hours it was put one foot in front of the other and don’t look back. Tracker set a tough pace. In a corner of my mind where the observer still dwelt, I noted that Toadkiller Dog kept the pace with ease.

  Goblin collapsed first. Once or twice he had tried to catch me and pass something along, but he just did not have the energy. When he went down, Tracker stopped, looked back irritably. Toadkiller Dog lay down in the wet leaves, rumbling. Tracker shrugged, set his end of the litter down.

  That was my cue to drop. Like a stone. And damn the rain and mud. I couldn’t get any wetter.

  Gods, my arms and shoulders ached. Needles of fire drove into me where the muscles start swooping up to the neck. “This isn’t going to work,” I said after I caught some breath. “We’re too old and weak.”

  Tracker considered the forest. Toadkiller Dog rose, sniffed the wet wind. I struggled up long enough to look back the way we had come, trying to guess which direction we had run.

  South, of course. North made no sense and east or west would have put us in the Barrowland or river. But if we kept heading south we would encounter the old Oar road where it curved in beside the Great Tragic. That stretch was sure to be patrolled.

  With my breath partially restored and my breathing no longer roaring in my ears, I could hear the river. It was no more than a hundred yards away, churning and grumbling as always.

  Tracker came out of a reflective mood. “Guile, then. Guile.”

  “I’m hungry,” One-Eye said, and I realized I was too. “Reckon we’ll get a lot hungrier, though.” He smiled feebly. He now had enough strength to look Goblin over. “Croaker. Want to come check him out?”

  Funny that they aren’t enemies when the pinch comes.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: TH
E FOREST AND BEYOND

  Two days passed before we ate, courtesy of Tracker’s skill as a hunter. Two days we spent dodging patrols. Tracker knew those woods well. We disappeared into their deeps and drifted southward at a more relaxed pace. After the two days Tracker felt confident enough to let us have a fire. It was not much, though, because finding burnable wood was a pain. Its value was more psychological than physical.

  Misery balanced by rising hope. That was the story of our two weeks in the Old Forest. Hell, trekking overland, off the road, was as fast or faster than using the road itself. We felt halfway optimistic when we neared the southern verge.

  I am tempted to dwell on the misery and the arguments about Raven. One-Eye and Goblin were convinced we were doing him no good. Yet they could come up with no alternative to dragging him along.

  I carried another weight in my belly, like a big stone.

  Goblin got to me that second night while Tracker and Toadkiller Dog were hunting. He whispered, “I got farther in than One-Eye did. Almost to the center. I know why Raven didn’t get out.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He saw too much. What he went to see, probably. The Dominator is not asleep. I …” He shuddered. It took him a moment to get hold of himself. “I saw him, Croaker. Looking back at me. And laughing. If it hadn’t been for One-Eye … I’d have been caught just like Raven.”

  “Oh, my,” I said softly, mind abuzz with the implications. “Awake? And working?”

  “Yes. Don’t talk about it. Not to anybody till you can tell Darling.”

  There was a hint of fatalism in him then. He doubted he would be around long. Scary. “One-Eye know?”

  “I’ll tell him. Got to make sure word gets back.”

  “Why not just tell us all?”

  “Not Tracker. There’s something wrong with Tracker … Croaker. Another thing. The old-time wizard. He’s in there, too.”

  “Bomanz?”

  “Yes. Alive. Like he’s frozen or something. Not dead, but not able to do anything … The dragon …” He shut up.

  Tracker arrived, carrying a brace of squirrels. We barely let them warm before we attacked them.

  We rested a day before tackling the tamed lands. Henceforth it would be scurry from one smidgen of cover to the next, mouselike, by night. I wondered what the hell the point might be. The Plain of Fear might as well be in another world.