Bleak Seasons

by Glen Cook

  This was a side of these guys I had not seen before. But I had not spent much time loafing with them. They were not Company. I kept my mouth shut and concentrated on my cards and let them tell me about who they used to be before the wander-dust settled on their shoes and set them roving against all odds. “What about you, Murgen?” Swan asked after he noticed that I was winning more than my share of hands. “Where did you come from?”

  I told them about growing up on a farm. There wasn’t anything exciting about my life until I decided that farming wasn’t what I wanted to do. I joined one of Lady’s armies, found out I didn’t like the way things were done there, deserted and joined up with the Black Company, which was the only place I could hide with the provost after me.

  Mather asked, “You ever regret leaving home?”

  “Every goddamned day, Mather. Every goddamned day. It was boring raising potatoes but not one time did I ever did have a spud try to stick a knife in me. I was hardly ever hungry and almost never cold and the landlord was all right. He made sure his tenants had enough before he took his share. He didn’t live much better than we did. Oh, and the only magic we ever saw was the kind your wandering conjurers perform at town fairs.”

  “So why not go home?”

  “Can’t.”

  “If you’re careful and don’t look prosperous and don’t go around pissing people off you can travel almost anywhere safely. We did.”

  “I can’t go home because home ain’t there no more. A Rebel army came through a couple years after I left.” The Company passed through later still, marching from somewhere unpleasant to somewhere where we would be unhappy. The whole country had been turned desert in the name of freedom from the tyranny of the Lady’s empire.

  61

  Lady sent for me after six days. I had shaken the runs and had eaten well enough to regain a few of the pounds I lost in the pen. I still looked like a refugee from hell. And I was. I was indeed.

  Lady did not look good. Tired, pale, under severe pressure, apparently still fighting the sickness that had her puking the other day. She wasted no time on small talk. “I’m sending you back to Dejagore, Murgen. We’re getting disturbing reports about Mogaba.”

  I nodded. I had heard some of them. Every night more rafts crossed the lake. The deserters and refugees always were astonished to learn that Shadowspinner was dead and Lady controlled his army though that was evaporating through desertion, too.

  Lady was a hard one. My guess was she meant to let the problem posed by Mogaba solve itself despite what that would cost Taglios and the Black Company.

  “Why?” That was not smart. All those Taglians in there had relatives back home. Many were people of place and substance, for it was that sort who had volunteered to defend Taglios.

  “I need you to just go back and be yourself. But write things down. Hone your skills. Keep the Company together. Be prepared for anything.”

  I grunted. That wasn’t something I wanted to hear, knowing that the siege could be ended right now.

  Lady sensed my reservations. She smiled wanly, made a sudden gesture. “Sleep, Murgen.”

  I collapsed on the spot.

  She was her nasty old self.

  My mind would not clear. The Taglians who had helped me leave Dejagore were like zombies. They did not talk and seemed almost blind. “Down!” I muttered. “Patrol coming.” They did what I said but like men heavily drugged.

  Patrols were few by day. It was easy to elude them. It was not their mission to keep people out, anyway. We reached lakeside without any trouble.

  “Rest,” I ordered. “Wait for dark.” I was not sure why we had crossed the hills by day. I did not recall starting. “Have I been acting real weird?” I asked.

  The taller Taglian shook his head slowly, not quite sure. He was more confused than I was.

  I said, “I feel like I walked out of a fog a couple hours ago. I remember getting captured. I remember them keeping us in a nasty pen. I know there was a fight or something. But I don’t remember how we got away.”

  “Nor do I, sir,” the shorter soldier said. “I do have a very strong feeling that we need to get back to our comrades quickly. But I don’t know why.”

  “How about you?”

  The taller man nodded, frowning. He was going to bust a vein trying to remember.

  I said, “Maybe Shadowspinner did something to us and let us go. That’s worth keeping in mind — especially if you have urges that really surprise you.”

  After dark we stole along the shoreline till we found a raft, jumped aboard and headed for Dejagore. And discovered immediately that we were going to get nowhere using poles. The water was too deep. We ended up using poles and broken boards as inefficient paddles. It took us half the night to make the crossing. And then, naturally, everything went to hell.

  One-Eye was on watch and had been passing the time making love to a keg of beer. He heard water splash and people ask for a hand up and concluded that the evil hordes were upon him, whereupon he flung fireballs hither and yon so any handy archers could plink us.

  One-Eye recognized me before more than three or four arrows whizzed past. He yelled for a ceasefire. But the damage had been done. The Nar at the North Gate saw us.

  We were far enough away that they should not recognize faces. But the possibility that the Old Crew might have outside contacts would get Mogaba’s interest.

  “Hey, Kid, good to see you,” One-Eye said as I clambered to the top of the wall. “We thought you was dead. We was going to have a funeral in a few more days if we got time. I been stalling it, account of if you was officially dead then I’d have to start keeping the Annals.” Generously, he offered me a drink from his very own unwashed for a fortnight mug. I declined the honor. “You all right, Kid?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me.” I told him what I could remember.

  “You have another spell?”

  “If I did these guys had it with me.”

  “Interesting. Come around and see me about it tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’m gonna be off watch in ten minutes and I intend to hit the sack. And you need some sleep yourself.”

  My pal. Don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have One-Eye to worry about me.

  62

  Bucket wakened me. “One of Mogaba’s guys is here, Murgen. Says His Majesty wants to see you.”

  I groaned. “Does it have to be so bright out there?” I had not bothered to go down into the warrens.

  “He’s pissed off. We’ve been pretending you were here but couldn’t talk to him. Goblin and One-Eye put doubles of you on the wall sometimes so the Nar could see you.”

  “And now you have the real Murgen back you want to throw him to the wolf.”

  “Uh... Well... He didn’t ask for nobody else.” Meaning he did not want Goblin or One-Eye. He wanted to stay away from those two.

  “Find my bitty buddies and tell them I need them. Now.” The wizards turned up at their own leisure, of course. I told them, “Put me in a litter and lug me over to the citadel. We’re going to admit that you’ve been lying about me but only because I was totally sick. What we were doing on that raft last night was taking baths. You thought it would be cute to pop off a few fireballs while I had my pants down.”

  One-Eye started to complain but before he could start I growled, “I’m not face Mogaba without backup. He don’t have any reason to be nice anymore.”

  “He won’t be in a good mood,” Goblin predicted. “There’s been rioting. Food shortages are getting really bad. He won’t turn one grain of rice loose. Even his handpicked Taglian sergeants have started to desert.”

  “It’s all falling apart for him,” I said. “He was going to take over and show the world wonders but his followers can’t match his iron will.”

  “And we’re some kind of philanthropic brotherhood?” One-Eye muttered.

  “We never kill nobody who don’t ask for it. Come on. Let’s do it. And be ready
for anything. Both of you.”

  But first we went up to the battlements, both so I could see this world by daylight and so the Nar at the North Gate could see me looking sick before I presented myself that way.

  The water level was just eight feet below the ramparts, higher than Hong Tray’s prediction. “Any flooding inside?”

  “Mogaba sealed the gates somehow. He has Jaicuri working parties bucket-brigading what seepage there is.”

  “Good for him. How about down below?”

  “There’s some seepage in the catacombs. Not a lot. We could keep up by hauling it up in buckets.”

  I grunted. I stared at Shadowspinner’s lake. I saw more corpses than I could count. “Those didn’t float up from the mounds, did they?”

  Goblin told me, “Mogaba threw people off the wall during the riots. And some might be from rafts that turned over or broke up.”

  I squinted. I could just make out a mounted patrol beyond the water. A raft with Jaicuri piled high had been caught by daylight. The people aboard were trying to move away from the waiting patrol by paddling with their hands.

  Thai Dei turned up so we knew his people were watching. I figured he would want me to visit the Speaker. But he said nothing. I told my bearers, “Take me to his worship.”

  As we approached I observed, “The citadel looks like something out of a spook story.” And it did, with the sky overcast behind it and crows swarming around. Dejagore was a paradise for crows. They were going to get too fat to fly. Maybe we would get fat eating them.

  The Nar at the entrance would not let One-Eye and Goblin inside. “So take me home,” I told them.

  “Wait!”

  “Stick it, buddy. I got no need to put up with Mogaba’s crap. The Lieutenant is alive. So is the Captain, probably. Mogaba ain’t shit nowhere but inside his own head anymore.”

  “You could have at least argued until we were rested up.”

  One-Eye started shuffling sideways so he could turn and head back down the steps.

  Ochiba caught us before we reached street level. He was cast in the same mold as all Nar. His face remained neutral. “Apologies, Standardbearer. Won’t you reconsider?”

  “Reconsider what? I don’t especially want to see Mogaba. He’s been eating magic mushrooms or chewing lucky weed or something. I been shitting my guts out for over a week. I ain’t in no shape to play games with no homicidal lunatic.”

  Something fluttered behind Ochiba’s dark eyes. Maybe he agreed. Maybe there was another war going on inside him, a struggle between keeping faith with Gea-Xle’s greatest Nar ever and keeping faith with his own humanity.

  I was not going to pursue it. Any hint of outside interest would push waverers in the direction of “That’s the way it’s always been.”

  That was the top two, then, quietly questioning Mogaba’s way. If these guys doubted him things were probably worse than I thought.

  “As you wish.” Ochiba told the sentries, “Let the litterbearers in.”

  Nobody missed the significance of who my litterbearers were. It was a pretty direct statement.

  I felt comfortably confrontational.

  63

  Was Mogaba happy to see Goblin and One-Eye, and them looking so fit? You better believe he wasn’t. But he did not pursue his displeasure. He just ticked something on his mental get-even slate. He would make me even more unhappy than he had planned. Later.

  “Can you sit up?” he asked, almost like he cared.

  “Yeah. I made sure. That’s partly why I took so long. That and I wanted to make sure I’d stay rational.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been suffering severe fevers and dysentery for over a week. Last night they took me out and threw me in the water to cool me down. That worked.”

  “I see. Come to the table, please.”

  Goblin and One-Eye helped me into a chair. They put on a fine show.

  There were just six people in the conference chamber, us three and Mogaba, Ochiba and Sindawe. Through the window behind Mogaba I saw water and hills. And crows. They squabbled over space on the window sill, though none would come inside. An albino turned an especially baleful pink eye my way.

  I suppose we looked too hungry.

  For one instant I saw that same room in another time, with Lady and some of the same faces around the same table. Mogaba was not among them. The window behind them opened on greyness.

  One-Eye pinched my earlobe. “Kid, now ain’t the time.”

  Mogaba watched intently.

  “Less recovered than I thought,” I explained. I wondered what the vision meant. And vision it was because it was too fully realized for imagination.

  Mogaba settled into a chair opposite me. He pretended solicitousness, avoided his usual assertiveness.

  “We face numerous grave problems, Standardbearer. They are out there and indifferent to whatever animosities we have developed amongst ourselves.”

  Goddamn! Was he going to turn reasonable on me?

  “They will be there whether or not we want to believe the Lieutenant or Captain survived. We will have to face them because I do not expect to be relieved any time soon.”

  I would not argue with that.

  “We would be better off had Lady not interfered this last time. We are isolated and trapped now because the Shadowmaster was forced to find a solution for managing two fronts.”

  I nodded. We were in a worse situation. On the other hand, we would not have yowling hordes piling over the wall every few nights anymore. Nor would Mogaba be flinging men hither and yon without regard for their lives, just trying to irritate the Southerners into doing something stupid.

  Mogaba glanced out the window. We could see two Shadowlander patrols raising dust in the hills. “He can starve us out now.”

  “Maybe.”

  Mogaba grimaced but controlled his anger. “Yes?”

  “For no rational reason I feel confident that our friends will break us out.”

  “I must confess that I remain a stranger to that sort of faith. Although I concede the importance of maintaining an optimistic aspect in front of the soldiers.”

  Was I going to argue? No. He was more right than I could be.

  “So, Standardbearer, how do we survive a protracted siege when most of our food stores are exhausted? How do we recover the standard once we do get out of these straits?”

  “I don’t have any answers. Although I think the standard is in friendly hands already.” Why was he interested? Almost every time we talked he asked something about the standard. Did he believe possessing it would legitimize him?

  “How so?” He was surprised.

  “The Widowmaker that was here the first time carried the real standard.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I know it,” I promised.

  “Then share your thoughts about food.”

  “We could try fishing.” Wisecracking was not a good idea with Mogaba. It just made Mogaba angry.

  “Ain’t no joke,” Goblin snapped. “That water comes down here from regular rivers. There’s got to be fish.”

  The little shit wasn’t as stupid as he acted sometimes.

  Mogaba frowned. “Do we have anyone who knows anything about fishing?” he asked Sindawe.

  “I doubt it.” They meant among their Taglian soldiers, of course. Nar are warriors, back for a dozen generations. They do not sully themselves doing unheroic work.

  I was negligent. I failed to mention that the Nyueng Bao came from country where fishing was, probably, a way of life.

  “It’s a thought,” Mogaba told me. “And there is always baked crow.” He glanced back at the window. “But most Taglians won’t eat flesh.”

  “A conundrum,” I agreed.

  “I will not surrender.”

  No reply seemed adequate.

  “You have no resources either?”

  “Less than you,” I lied. We still had a little rice from the catacombs. But not much. We were stretching ourselves ev
ery way possible, in accordance with hints recorded in the Annals. We did not look like famine victims. Not quite yet.

  We looked, I noted, less well fed than did the Nar.

  “Suggestions for reducing the number of unproductive mouths?”

  “I’m letting my worn out Taglians and any locals who want build rafts and go. But I don’t let them take anything with them.”

  He controlled his anger again. “That does consume valuable timber. But it is another thought worth consideration.”

  I studied Sindawe and Ochiba. They remained jet statues. They were not even breathing, it seemed. They expressed no opinions.

  Mogaba glared at me. “I feared this meeting would be this nonproductive. You haven’t even thrown the Annals in my face.”

  “The Annals aren’t magic. What they say about sieges is plain commonsense stuff. Be stubborn. Ration. Don’t support the nonproductive. Control the spread of plague. Don’t exhaust your enemy’s patience if there is no hope of outlasting him. If surrender is inevitable do it while your enemy is still amenable to terms.”

  “This enemy never offered.”

  I wondered about that, although the Shadowmasters did have a tendency to think like gods.

  “Thank you, Standardbearer. We will examine our options and keep you informed of what we mean to do.”

  Goblin and One-Eye helped me ease my chair back. They settled me into the litter. Mogaba said nothing else and I could think of nothing I wanted to tell him. The other Nar just stood there awkwardly and watched us go.

  “What was that in aid of?” I asked once we were clear. “I expected yelling and threats.”

  “He wanted to pick your brains,” Goblin said.

  “While he made up his mind if he was going to kill you,” One-Eye added cheerfully.

  “Oh, that’s real encouraging.”

  “He did decide, Murgen. And he didn’t pick the option you want to hear. It’s time to start being real careful.”

  We did make it home unharmed.

  64

  “sDon’t bother dragging me up there till we find out what Uncle wants.” Goblin and One-Eye were at the foot of steps leading to the battlements. Doj was up top, looking down.