by Glen Cook
These days Swan is the captain of the Royal Guards detachment assigned to Dejagore.
Swan wears his cornsilk hair longer than Lady does her shoulder-length black hair. Sometimes Willow braids his but at the moment it was pulled back into a ponytail. Lady’s hair was back in a tail, too. Usually she lets it hang free. She did keep it combed and clean when she could.
A soldier by accident, Swan did not want to be a hero. His Guards existed outside the army and functioned mainly as military police. He and they owed their allegiance directly to the Prince and his sister.
Lady said, “Howler has quit attacking outposts.”
“You said he ain’t stupid,” Swan replied.
“I got too close when I missed him. That scared him off for good.”
One of the Nar observed, “Our raids must trouble them.”
“They trouble me, Isi. And I authorized them.” Lady shivered momentarily.
“They are effective.”
“Beyond a doubt.”
The Prince asked, “But would the Liberator approve?”
Lady’s smile revealed glistening white teeth that were almost too perfect. She had mastered the cosmetic sorceries early. “He doesn’t approve. Definitely. But he won’t interfere. I’m the one who is here and I’m relying on my own experience.”
The Prince asked, “Will Longshadow unleash Mogaba?” The Nar brigadiers tensed. Mogaba shamed them greatly by letting pride and vanity seduce him away from the ancient ideals of the Nar. Not to mention he was going to be blue-assed hell in a fight.
Swan asked, “You take any prisoners down there?”
“Yes. And what they knew would fit into a thimble with room left for a stork’s nest. Nobody responsible down there ever sits around the campfire swapping secrets with the troops.”
Swan stared at her while her gaze was directed elsewhere. He saw a woman five and a half feet tall, blue-eyed, 110 perfectly arranged pounds. She was big for this part of the world. She looked like she might turn twenty soon. That old black magic. Swan was transparent.
Lady is cold and hard and committed and deadlier than a sword with a will of its own, but these guys just can’t seem to help themselves. It started with the Old Man way back but the parade goes on. The fever cost Blade big.
Despite what may have happened with Blade I am convinced that Lady is the Captain’s woman absolutely. Whatever happened, Croaker took it to heart. He drove a good man over to the enemy and became something as cold as Lady himself. Half the time, anymore, Croaker is this living wargod so fierce that when he barks even the Prince and the Radisha jump. Aloud, Lady wondered what Howler’s raids were meant to accomplish. Swan blurted Bucket’s answer. “He wanted to pick off Black Company guys. That’s obvious.”
“Isi?” Lady asked. “Is there more?”
One of the Nar replied, “Mogaba wouldn’t test himself against lesser men. Longshadow might want to remove those so he can better manipulate Mogaba’s obsessions. Or he might be trying to initiate the final battle by being a continuous irritant.”
The Prince nodded to himself. Now he was watching Lady with that gleam in his eye.
Was it the fatal lure of evil?
“Perhaps he does want to bring Croaker to the front.”
How many times over the centuries has Lady stood like that, about to loose fire and sword? She said, “We do need to move this headquarters nearer to the action. The communications lag has become unacceptable. Swan. Hand me that map there.”
Swan plucked a map off a sideboard cluttered with mystic paraphernalia. His caution indicated that he found that stuff obscure and wanted it to stay that way.
The map portrayed the far south. A large blank space on its left was labelled Shindai Kus, which was a desert. Beyond the unmapped nether edge of the desert was additional blank space labeled Ocean.
Beginning in the Shindai Kus, running east and curving northward, are mountains generically refered to as the Dandha Presh. They become rougher and rougher as they swerve around to form, eventually, the eastern limits of the Taglian territories. The range changes its local name frequently. It is supposed to be impassable east of the Shindai Kus except through the high pass at Charandaprash.
Longshadow, Shadowcatch and Overlook lie on the far side of the Dandha Presh. Mogaba’s army was the cork in the pass bottlenecking the road south. For ages a common subject when officers were not listening was how badly would we get whipped if we took a crack at Mogaba.
A racket apparently arose outside because Swan jumped to the window. “A courier,” he announced. I could hear no sound from outside that room. In fact, when I did glance out the window I could see nothing but greyness. Strange.
Lady elbowed Swan aside. “Can’t be good news. Get him before he talks too much.”
Swan returned quickly. “It’s not too bad. Seems a really huge mob of Shadar and Vehdna fanatics were chasing Blade and had the bad luck to catch him.”
What? That wasn’t news. I knew about it. The Shadowmaster knew about it... Of course. Lady did not have a Smoke or a screaming-nut sidekick with a flying carpet. And I had known for just a little while. Maybe it seemed longer because I learned it so far away.
“What are you babbling?” Lady demanded.
“Blade wiped out over five thousand religious goofs who were after him to punish him for his religious excesses.” Blade was pretty hard on temples and priests when he had the opportunity.
His religious attitude had a lot to do with his running away, too. He had made thorough, blood-bitter enemies of all Taglian priests long before his falling out with the Old Man. The devout considered his fall from favor a blessing from heaven.
I was confident that the priests secretly looked forward to all of our fates becoming gifts from the angels.
“Five thousand?”
“Maybe more. Maybe up to seven thousand.”
“Loose on their own? How could that happen?” Neither the ruling family nor we liked having huge groups of armed men not under our control blundering around righting wrongs. “Out. All of you, out of here. Come back in two hours.”
Lady started murmuring the instant she was alone. “That damned Croaker.” She grabbed stuff off the sideboard. “He’s out of his mind.”
I learned that you got damned focused out there with Smoke. Time could rush past if you let yourself become introspective.
Fragments of all that was happening to me came to me in no rational order and I almost got lost trying to piece the puzzle together.
Realization, and resulting terror, feeble as it was out there, brought me back to the present in the place I was watching when I lost my concentration. Hours had passed.
Lady was still grumbling about the Old Man. “What’s the matter with him? How could he believe those damned rumors?”
She was angry. She had managed some mystic scrying of the distant battlefield as it appeared after the event. All that carnage had left her more upset. “Damned fool!” It was the worst disaster for Taglian arms since Dejagore.
From some hidden recess in the sideboard she produced a piece of black cloth. I was startled, despite having studied her Annals closely. That was the silk rumel of a master Strangler. She began exercising with the killing scarf.
Maybe that helped her relax.
She was upset because she had been left out of something. Usually she was the Captain’s partner.
Got you a clue, woman, I thought. Lately he is cutting everybody out.
Lady’s scarf flashed. She was good. I wondered. Was there still some connection with Kina?
Did Croaker fear there might be?
They were not called Deceivers for nothing.
She calmed herself. She sent for her council. Once they gathered she said, “There were survivors from that battle. Some are still there burying the dead. Catch me a few.”
53
Croaker never came to the hidden room. Neither did One-Eye, nor even the Radisha to torment our prisoner. Nobody wakened me.
> I drifted back there almost without design, perhaps summoned by my body. I had been gone a long time. Longer than the subjective time spent out there. My stretch of introspection must have extended farther than it had seemed.
My stomach was roaring. But Mother Gota’s baked rocks were all gone.
The Strangler had gotten the cloth off himself again. He watched me wide-eyed. I got the feeling he had been about to do something that I would regret.
I discovered that he had managed to work one hand free. “You naughty boy.” I took a long pull off the pitcher of water, then fixed him up again. Then I tried to decide whether to risk the labyrinth once more, in an effort to get to some of Mother Gota’s lethal chow, or to stay and take yet another look at the wide world through Smoke’s eyes while I awaited help.
“Water.”
“Sorry, pal. I don’t think so. Unless maybe you want to tell me what your buddies are up to.” My belly grumbled again.
The Strangler did not answer. Weak as he was, his will remained firm. Even ignoring my own presence it seemed somebody should have come to feed him.
It was late. Maybe Mother Gota was asleep and Sarie would handle my meal. She did not cook like she was out for vengeance.
I was at the doorway, trying to make up my mind. Was there some way to mark my passage? Some way to follow footprints in the dust? But there was no light. This part of the Palace was not in regular use. No one maintained any candles or torches. The lamp in the chamber behind me would be the only light available. Unless I waited till daylight, when the sun would steal in through random cracks and tiny windows.
I glanced back at the lamp. It had been burning a long time. No one had been by to fuel it. I ought to see about refilling it before I did anything else.
There was a metallic sound from far, far away, come around a hundred corners and down the rambling halls. It chilled me despite Taglios’s natural heat and humidity.
“Water.”
“Shut up.” I found a beaker of lamp oil, cocked my head while I worked. The metallic sound did not repeat itself.
I had not covered the Strangler again. When I glanced at him I discovered his deathshead face stretched in a grin. It was the grin of Death.
Spilling oil, I flung myself out of there.
I got lost again. Fast.
54
Lost in the Palace was not a matter for panic so I didn’t. I confess to a certain amount of frustration, though.
You would think my situation vulnerable to the application of common sense. I sure thought so.
One good rule proved to be not to enter any corridor dustier than the one I was using. Another was to avoid apparent shortcuts religiously. They never led anywhere I wanted to go. Most important was, don’t yield to emotion or frustration.
The Palace is the only place in the world where you can step through a doorway and end up on a different floor. I found out the hard way. And it was not any sort of elf magic. It came from the place being a conglomeration of ages and ages of add-ons built upon very uneven ground.
My anxiety reached the point where I elected to pursue what seemed the wimp route. I decided to go down to ground level, find one of the Palace’s thousand postern doors, which can be opened only from the inside, and get out into the street. Out there I would know where I was. I would walk around to the entrance I used regularly. Then I would be home.
It is really dark in there in the middle of the night. I found that out after I stumbled descending a stair and dropped my lamp.
It broke, of course. And for a while there was a lot of light down below. But soon the fire burned out.
Oh, well. It was a certainty that there would be a door to the street below. The stairwell curved down against an exterior wall. I had leaned out a window to make sure before I ever entered it.
Descending an ancient stair that spirals isn’t easy when there are no handrails and you cannot see what you are doing. Nevertheless, I got to the bottom without breaking any bones, although I did slip a couple of times and endured one long spell of vertigo after passing through the smoke from the burned lamp fuel.
Eventually the stair ended. I felt around for a door. As I did so I frowned. What was I doing? Took me a moment to reach back into my head and bring up the answer.
I found the door, felt around for a release. I found an old fashioned wooden latch bar, which was not what I expected at all.
I yanked, pushed. The door swung outward.
Wrong answer to your problem, Murgen.
Within that fastness nothing moves, though at times mists of light shimmer as they leak over from beyond the gates of dream. Shadows linger in corners. And way down inside the core of the place, in the feeblest throb of the heart of darkness, there is life of a sort.
A massive wooden throne stands upon a dais at the heart of a chamber so vast only a sun could light it all. Upon that throne a body sprawls, veiled by shoals of shadow, pinioned by silver knives driven through its feet and hands. Sometimes that body sighs softly in its sleep, impelled by bitter dreams acrawl behind its sightless eyes.
This is survival of a sort.
In the night, when the wind no longer licks through its unglazed windows, nor prances along its untenanted halls, nor whispers to its million creeping shadows, that fortress is filled with the silence of stone.
55
No will.
No identity. At home in the house of pain.
56
There you are! Where have you been? Welcome back to the house of pain!
57
The house of pain. I went there but do not remember the journey or the visit.
I was on hands and knees on broken pavement. My palms and knees hurt. I lifted a hand. My palm was torn. Blood oozed from a dozen abrasions. My mind was numb. I raised my other hand, began picking out bits of paving brick.
Fifty yards away the side of a building glowed olive, pulsating. A circle of masonry blew outward. Shadows sprang out of the darkness. With weapons bare they scrambled through the hole. Shouts and the clang of metal came from inside.
I got up and wandered that direction, vaguely interested but not sure why, not even thinking definable thoughts.
“Hey!” A shadow at that hole stared at me. I did not yell so that must have been the shadow. “That you, Murgen?”
I kept walking, head spinning. My course curved to the right. I banged into the side of a building. After that I had a sure means of navigation. Like a drunk I steered by keeping one hand on the wall.
“Here he is!” The shadow pointed at me.
“Candles?”
“Yeah. You all right? What did they do to you?”
I had little pains everywhere. I felt like I had been stabbed and cut and burned. “Who? Nobody did anything...” Did they? “Where am I? When?”
“Huh?”
A man leaned through the side of the building. He wore a scarf wrapped around his face. Only his eyes were visible. He studied me momentarily, popped back inside. Somebody in there yelled.
People jumped into the street. Some carried bloody weapons. All were masked. A couple grabbed my arms and took off.
We scurried through darkened streets in a nighted city and no one would answer my panted questions so for a while I had no idea when I was, or where. Then we crossed an open space from which I glimpsed the citadel of Dejagore.
That answered my most immediate questions.
But a new crop sprouted. Why were we outside the Company’s part of town? How had I gotten there? Why didn’t I have any memories of this? I recalled sitting with Ky Dam, secretly lusting after his granddaughter...
The men accompanying me removed their wraps and masks. They were Company. Plus Uncle Doj and a couple of Nyueng Bao sprites. We ducked into an alleyway that led to Nyueng Bao territory. “Slow down,” I gasped. “What’s going on?”
“Somebody snatched you,” Candles explained. “At first we thought Mogaba did it.”
“Huh?”
“Shadowspi
nner’s taken his whole army off after Lady. We could walk away if we wanted. We thought he decided to take a hostage.”
I did not believe Spinner was gone. “Uncle Doj. The last thing I remember was sipping tea with the Speaker.”
“You began to behave oddly, Stone Soldier.”
I growled. He did not apologize.
“The Speaker thought perhaps you had been drinking before you arrived. He instructed Thai Dei to take you home. He was offended. You proved to be such a burden that Thai Dei was unable to defend himself when you were attacked. He was beaten badly but managed to get home with word. Your friends began looking for you as soon as we informed them.” His tone suggested that he wondered why they had bothered. “They seem more skilled than they pretend. They pinpointed you quickly. You were not in the citadel, which is where Mogaba would have confined you.”
“How did I get clear across town?” I winced. In addition to the other pains I had a hangover-type headache. I had been drugged.
Nobody had an answer for me.
“Is this the same night, Uncle?”
“Yes. But many hours later.”
“And it definitely wasn’t Mogaba that grabbed me?”
“No. There were no Nar in that place. In fact, soon after you were taken someone attacked Mogaba, too. They may have planned to murder him.”
“Jaicuri?” Maybe the locals wanted to get to the heart of the problem.
“Perhaps.” He did not sound convinced. Maybe he should have taken prisoners.
“Where’s One-Eye?” Only One-Eye could have ripped that hole in the wall back there.
Candles told me, “Covering our backtrail.”
“Good.” I was near normal now. Which meant I was as confused as ever, I guess. Whoever grabbed me had done some slick work to sneak through Nyueng Bao territory unnoticed.
Uncle Doj divined my thoughts. “We have not determined how the villains managed to ambush you, nor how the others got so close to Mogaba. Those four did pay in blood.”
“He killed them?”
“By all reports it was an epic battle, four against one.”