by Glen Cook
He shrugged, an uncharacteristic action. “There are many evils in the world. I guess I’ve chosen one for my personal crusade.”
“Why such a hatred for priests?”
He didn’t shrug. He didn’t give me a straight answer, either. “If each man picks an evil and attacks it relentlessly, how long can evil persist?”
That was an easy one. Forever. More evil gets done in the name of righteousness than any other way. Few villains think they are villains. But I left him his illusion. If he had one. I doubted he did. No more than a sword’s blade does.
At first I’d thought him moved as Swan so obviously was when he looked at me. But he hadn’t so much as hinted that he considered me anything but a fellow soldier.
He confused me.
He asked, “Will you talk to Willow and Cordy? Or shall I?”
“What do you think?”
“Depends. What you want to discuss? How? You wiggle some, you can lead Swan anywhere.”
“Not interested.”
“I’ll talk to them, then. You go ahead. Do what you have to do.”
Sunrise next morning I was on the road north with two incompetent and incomplete battalions, Narayan and Ram, and all the trophies I had claimed from the Shadowmasters’ horsemen.
24
The Radisha waited impatiently while Smoke bustled around making sure his spells were proof against eavesdroppers. The Prahbrindrah Drah lounged in a chair, looking indolent and unconcerned. But he spoke first when the wizard signalled satisfaction with his precautions. “More bad news, Sis?”
“Bad? I don’t know. Not pleasant. Dejagore was a disaster. Though experts tell me it hurt the Shadowmasters so badly they can’t bother us this year. The woman you lust after did survive, though.”
The Prahbrindrah grinned. “Is that the good news or the bad?”
“Subject to interpretation. For once, though, I think Smoke might be right.”
“Ah?”
“She insists the defeat neither destroyed the Black Company nor terminated our contract. She gave me a requisition for more men, equipment, and materials.”
“She’s serious?”
“Deadly. She reminded me of the Company’s history and what becomes of those who renege on contracts.”
The Prahbrindrah chuckled. “Bold wench. All by herself?”
Smoke squeaked something.
The Radisha said, “She’s already recruited a force two thousand strong. She’s training them. She’s dangerous, dear. You’d better take her seriously.”
Smoke squeaked again, apparently unable to articulate what he wanted to say.
“Yes. She killed Jahamaraj Jah. Jah tried giving her some trouble. Poof! She made him disappear.”
The prince took a deep breath, blew it out between puffed cheeks. “Can’t fault her taste. But that’s no way to make friends with priests.”
Smoke gobbled again.
The Radisha said, “She doesn’t intend to try. She got Blade to defect. He’s her number two man, now. You know his attitude. Dammit, Smoke! One thing at a time.”
“Swan and Mather?”
“They stuck. I think. But Swan is taken with her, too. I really don’t know what you see in her.”
The Prahbrindrah chuckled. “She’s exotic. And gorgeous. Where are they now?”
“I left them in charge. Supposedly. It’s meaningless. She considers herself the Captain and free to do whatever she pleases. With those two there I’ll have eyes on the scene. They can keep us informed. All right, Smoke. All right.”
“What’s he lathered about?”
“He thinks she’s made an alliance with the Stranglers.”
“The Stranglers?”
“Kina worshippers. Like Smoke’s been whining all along.”
“Oh.”
“First time she visited me she brought two of them with her. Or men who appeared to be Stranglers.”
Smoke managed a clear statement. “She carried a strangling cloth herself. I believe she slew Jah personally. I believe she disposed of his corpse in a Deceivers’ rite.”
“Let me think.” The prince steepled his fingers before his lips. Finally, he asked, “Were they men she’d recruited? Or did she make an alliance with the whole cult?”
Smoke gobbled. The Radisha contradicted him. “I don’t know. Who knows how that cult works?”
“It’s not monolithic.”
Smoke said, “She carried a rumel herself. She posed as Kina during the fight with the Shadowmasters’ cavalry.”
The Radisha had to explain that.
The prince observed, “So we assume the worst? No matter how unlikely?”
“Even if she has access to only a few Stranglers, dear, she’s acquired an unholy power. They have no fear of death. If they’re told to kill, they’ll kill. Disregarding any cost to themselves. And we have no way of knowing who might be one of them.”
“The Year of the Skulls,” Smoke piped. “It’s coming.”
“Let’s don’t get carried away. You talked to her, Sis. What does she want?”
“To continue the war. To fulfill the Black Company’s commission, then see us meet our end of the agreement.”
“Then we’re in no immediate danger. Why not let her have her head?”
“Kill her now,” Smoke said. “Before she grows any stronger. Destroy her! Or she will destroy Taglios.”
“He seems to be overreacting. Don’t you think, Sis?”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
“But…”
“You didn’t talk to her, her with all the confidence of a tidal wave. She’s turned damned scary.”
“And the Shadowmasters? Who’ll handle them?”
“We have a year.”
“You think we could build an army?”
“I don’t know. I think we made a lethal mistake dealing with the Black Company the way we did. Quiet, Smoke. We wove webs of deception. That will come back on us because we’re in too deep to retreat. Swan, Blade, and Mather were convinced we were treacherous in our promises. I’m sure Blade shared his opinions with the woman.”
“We’ll step carefully, then.” The Prahbrindrah reflected. “But right now I don’t see the threat. If she wants to get the Shadowmasters, I say let her go after them.”
Smoke had a fit. He ranted. He cursed. He issued dire prophecies. Every sentence included the words, “The Year of the Skulls.”
His histrionics were so craven they drove the Radisha toward her brother’s position.
Brother and sister left him to his humors. As they moved toward their part of the palace, the Prahbrindrah asked, “What’s gotten into him? He’s lost his nerve completely.”
“He never had much.”
“No. But he’s gone from a mouse to a jellyfish. First it was fear of getting found out by the Shadowmasters. Now it’s the Stranglers.”
“They scare me.”
The prince snorted. “We have more power than you suspect, Sis. We have the power to manipulate three priesthoods.”
The Radisha sneered. She knew what that was worth. So did Jahamaraj Jah, now.
25
Eight men sat around the fire in the room without a roof. That room was on the top floor of a four-storey tenement in Taglios’ worst slum. The landlord would have suffered apoplexy had he seen what they had done.
They had been there only a few days. They were wrinkled little brown men unlike any Taglian native. But Taglios lay beside a great river. Strangers came and went. Unusual people seldom drew a second glance.
They had opened the room to the elements and now some regretted it.
A summer shower had come down the river. It was not a heavy rain but the clouds had stalled over the city. They shed a steady drizzle. Taglios’ people were pleased. Rain cleared the air and carried away the trash in the streets. Tomorrow, though, the air would be muggy and everyone would complain.
Seven of the eight brown men did nothing but stare into the flames. The eighth occasiona
lly added a bit of fuel or a pinch of something that sent sparks flying and filled the air with aromatic smoke. They were patient. They did this for two hours each night.
Suddenly, shadows rippled in over the tops of the walls, danced behind and among the men. They did not move, did nothing to admit they sensed the new presence. The one added another pinch of aromatic, then rested his hands in his lap. Shadows gathered around him. Shadows whispered. He replied, “I understand.” The language he spoke was not Taglian. It was spoken nowhere within six hundred miles of Taglios.
The shadows went away.
The men did not move till the fire died. The rain became a blessing then. It quenched the flames quickly.
The one who had fed the fire spoke briefly. The others nodded. They had their orders. Discussion was unnecessary. In minutes they were out in the Taglian streets.
* * *
Smoke muttered curses as he stepped into the rain. “Story of my life. Nothing goes right anymore.” He scuttled along, head down. “What am I doing out here?” He ought to be inside trying to make the Radisha see sense so she could make her brother see sense. They were going to ruin everything. All they had worked toward was going to fly away if they didn’t do something about that woman.
They were going to destroy Taglios by default. Why couldn’t they see that?
Sometimes a walk helped clear the mind. He needed to be out, away, alone, free. Some new avenue would present itself. There was a way to get through, he was sure. There had to be.
A bat zipped past so close he felt the air stirred by its wings. A bat? On a night like this?
He recalled a time, before the legions marched, when bats had been everywhere. And someone had made a considerable effort to eliminate them. Someone like maybe those wizards who had travelled with the Black Company.
He halted, suddenly nervous. Bats in weather when bats should not fly? Not a good omen.
He had not come far. One minute and he’d be safely in the palace.
Another bat whipped past. He turned to run.
Three men blocked his path.
He whirled.
More men. Everywhere, men. He was surrounded. For half a minute they seemed a horde. But there were only six. In very bad Taglian one said, “A man want see you. You come.”
He looked around wildly. There was no escape.
* * *
The paradox of being Smoke, Smoke thought. Terrified when the danger was insubstantial, calm now with it concrete, he moved through streets dark and wet, surrounded by men no bigger than he. His mind worked perfectly. He could break away whenever he willed. One small spell and he could be gone, safe.
But something was afoot. It might be crucial to know what. That spell could be loosed later as well as now.
He pretended to be as rattled and craven as ever.
They took him to the worst part of the city, to a tenement that looked like it could collapse any second. He was more frightened of it than of them. They led him up four creaky flights. One man tapped a code on a door.
The door opened. They went inside. Smoke eyed the man waiting. He looked just like the six who had brought him. Nor did the man who had opened the door seem any different. All hatched in the same nest. But the man who waited spoke passable Taglian.
He asked, “You are the one called Smoke? The fire marshall? I cannot recall the full title.”
The wizard supposed they knew who and what he was, else he would not be here. “I am. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“I have no name. I can be called One Who Leads Eight Who Serve.” Ghost of a smile. “Unwieldy, yes? It is of no importance. I am the only one here who can speak your language. You won’t confuse me with anyone else.”
“Why did you interrupt my stroll?” Keep it cool, casual, he thought.
“Because we have a common interest in dealing with a peril so great it could devour the world. The Year of the Skulls.”
Now Smoke knew who they were.
He controlled himself but his mind went wild. His efforts to maintain his anonymity had gone for naught. The Shadowmasters knew him.
Maybe Swan was right. Maybe he was just a coward … He was. He had known that always. But he was no puling craven. He could manage his fear if he had to.
Still … It rankled that Swan could be right about anything. Willow Swan was an animal that walked on its hind legs and made noises like a man.
“The Year of the Skulls?” he asked. “What do you mean?”
The man smiled thinly. “It will save time if we don’t pretend. You know Kina is stirring. And when she stirs, ripples go out and waken other things best left undisturbed. The first whisper of Kina passes over the world. Soon the woman who is her avatar will become aware of what she is.”
“Do you think me simple?” Smoke demanded. “Do you believe I can be weaned from my loyalty so easily? Do you believe an appeal to my fears will subvert me?”
“No. Subversion is not the point. He who sent me is to you as you are to a mouse. He is afraid. He has cast the bones of time. He has seen what may be. That woman can bring on the true Year of the Skulls. What she was once she can become again, filled with the breath of Kina. Before that terror all else pales. The contention of armies becomes the squabbling of children. But he who sent me has no power to reach out where the danger abides. She has surrounded herself with Kina’s Children. She grows stronger by the hour. And he who sent me must remain where he is, holding back the tide of darkness that laps at Shadowcatch. He can do nothing but register his appeal for help and offer his friendship, which you may test as you will and call upon as you see fit.”
A scheme. A tortuous scheme, surely. But he dared not reject it out of hand. There was sorcery in this place. He hadn’t time to take its measure. If he turned them down flatly he might not get out alive.
“Which Shadowmaster do you call lord?” He thought he knew. The man had mentioned Shadowcatch.
The brown man smiled. “You call him Longshadow. He has other names.”
Longshadow, master of Shadowcatch. The Shadowmaster whose demesne was farthest from Taglios, who was the least known of the four, rumored to be insane. He hadn’t been much involved in the attacks upon Taglios.
The foreigner said, “He who sent me has not been involved in this war. He opposed it from the beginning. He has refused to participate. There are more pressing dangers, more deadly concerns, which preoccupy him.”
“Men much like you have attacked Taglians several times.”
“Stipulated. On the river. In the southern Taglian territories. Can you guess the common denominator, wizard?”
“The woman.”
“The woman. Kina’s fulcrum. He who sent me cast the bones of time. And as she becomes a greater danger he becomes more pressed elsewhere, less able to fight. He needs allies. He is desperate with fear. He will give more than he takes. The weed of doom has taken root in Taglios and he can do so little. It must be expunged by Taglians.”
“There’s a war on. Taglians didn’t initiate it.”
“Neither did he. But that war can be ended. He has that power. Of the three who wanted war, two are dead. Stormshadow and Moonshadow are gone. Shadowspinner lingers. He controls their combined armies but he is injured. He can be compelled to accept peace. He can be expunged, if that is the price of peace. Peace can be restored. Taglios can be as it was before the madness began. But he who sent me will not invest resources in making these things come true if there is nothing to be gained by letting some of his attention be diverted.”
“From what?”
“Glittering stone. Khatovar. You are no unlettered peasant. You have read the ancients. You know the Shadar Khadi is but a pale shade of Kina, though Khadi’s priests deny it. You know Khatovar, in the old tongue, means Khadi’s Throne and is supposed to be the place where Khadi fell to earth. He who sent me believes the legend of Khatovar is an echo of an older, truer tale of Kina.”
Smoke controlled his emotions and fears. He forced a smi
le. “You’ve given me a great deal to digest. A veritable feast.”
“Only a first course. Truly, he who sent me is desperate. He needs a friend, an ally, who has influence here, who has some chance to cut the weed before it flowers. He will do what he has to do to demonstrate his good faith. He has told me to tell you he will even bring you to him so you can judge his honesty for yourself if that is your wish. If you are able to feel safe doing so. He’ll agree to whatever safeguards you feel you need if you wish to speak to him directly.”
“A lot to digest,” Smoke said again, just wanting to get out of there before somebody turned vicious.
“I expect so. Enough to overturn your world. And more to come. And you have been gone a long time now. We wouldn’t want your absence to become an object of concern. Go. Think. Make decisions.”
“How should I get in touch?”
The brown man smiled. “We will find you. We will move from this place after you leave, lest you suffer some shortsighted inspiration to make yourself a hero. A bat will find you when it is time. Place yourself where you cannot be watched and these others will meet you.”
“All right. You’re right. I’d better get back.” He eased toward the door, still not sure where he stood. But no one interfered with his departure.
He had a lot to mull over. And the interview had been productive if for no other reason than that it proved the Shadowmasters had put new agents into the city after the Black Company’s wizards rooted out those that had been there before.
* * *
The little brown man who spoke bad Taglian asked his leader, “Will he take the bait?”
The leader shrugged. “The appeal was broad enough to touch him somewhere. His fears. His ego. His ambitions. He’s been handed the chance to destroy what he fears and hates. He’s been offered the chance to make himself big as a peacemaker. He’s been offered the opportunity to fatten his own power with potent friends. If he has any need to become a traitor we’ve touched it.”
The man smiled. His companions did, too. Then all eight began packing. The leader was sure the wizard’s conscience would move him to report this initial approach.