by Glen Cook
Experiment quickly proved no key but the pick was needed to leave the plain. The shadowgate did tickle and tingle, though.
The first thing I noticed outside was a powerful mixture of sagey and piney smells. There had been few odors on the plain. Then I noticed the incredible warmth. This world was much warmer than the plain was. It was early autumn here... as promised, Willow. As promised.
Kendo and Slink kept their squads moving, screening our advance. More and more people passed through the gate. I got myself hoisted onto the black stallion so I could see better. Which meant that somebody had to carry One-Eye. I told Sahra, “Let’s head for those ruins.” I was about to add something about shelter being easier to find there when Kendo Cutter shouted.
I looked where he pointed. It took a sharp eye to see them. The old men coming uphill slowly wore robes almost exactly the same color as the road and the earth behind them. There were five of them. They were bent and moved slowly.
“We did give ourselves away up there. And somebody was watching. Doj!”
Waste of breath. The Swordmaster was headed downhill already. Tobo and Gota were right behind him, which did nothing for Sahra’s nerves. I rushed forward, caught the boy. “You stay back.”
“But, Sleepy!”
“You want to debate it with Runmust and Iqbal?” He did not want to argue with the large Shadar gentlemen. I did not want to argue with the Troll. I let her go. She might be more intimidating than Doj, anyway. He was just one old man with a sword. She was a vicious old woman with a virulent tongue.
I checked my battered old shortsword. That was going to perform wonders if they climbed over Uncle Doj. Then I headed downhill myself. Sahra accompanied me.
The old men in brown looked at Doj and Gota. Doj and Gota looked at them. Those five men looked like they had been cast in the same mold, being nearly as wide as they were tall and very long in the tooth.
One of the natives said something rapid in a liquid tongue. The cadence was unusual but the words sounded vaguely familiar. I did catch the phrase “Children of the Dead.” Doj replied at length in Nyueng Bao, which included the formulas “The Land of Unknown Shadows” and “All Evil Dies There an Endless Death.” The old men seemed hugely puzzled by Doj’s accent but recognized those phrases well enough to become visibly agitated. I could not tell if that was a positive sign or not.
Mother Gota began muttering the incantation that included “Calling the Heaven and the Earth and the Day and the Night,” and that excited the old men even more.
Sahra told me, “Evidently the language has changed a great deal since the Children of the Dead ran away.”
It took me a moment to understand that she was translating what Doj had said in an aside to Gota.
There was a stream of chatter from the old men, all apparently in the form of pointed questions that Doj could not answer.
Sahra said, “They seem to be extremely worried about someone they keep calling ‘that devil-dog Merika Montera.’ Also about a pupil of this monster, a supposed future Grandmaster. Apparently the two were driven into exile together.”
“Merika Montera would be Longshadow. We know there was a time when he used the name Maricha Manthara Dhumraksha. He sent an agent named Ashutosh Yaksha to live among the Nyueng Bao in an effort to find and steal the Key that we’ve brought with us. The golden pickax.”
Uncle Doj chided, “Sleepy, these old men don’t speak Taglian or Dejagoran, but there’s still a chance that they might recognize our version of names they fear and hate just a whole hell of a lot. Right now they’re clamoring for answers about one Achoes Tosiak-shah. It sounds like Longshadow and Shadowspinner, before they were exiled, were the last of a race of outsider sorcerers who enslaved these people’s forefathers — through their ability to manipulate killer shadows they summoned from the plain.”
“Wouldn’t you know? They brought their business with them. Tell these guys whatever they need to know. Tell them the truth. Tell them who we are and what we intend to do. And what we’ve already done to their buddies Longshadow and Shadowspinner.”
“We might be wise to find out a little more about them before we become completely candid.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to break any lifetime habits.”
Doj nodded slightly, betraying the slightest smile. He faced the old men and began talking. I found that my Nyueng Bao was improving. I had no trouble isolating “Stone Soldiers” and “Soldiers of Darkness” in his monologue. Native faces kept turning my way, always more surprised.
Sahra told me, “They’re monks of some sort. They’ve been watching for a long time. Watching is what their order does. In case the Shadowmasters try to return. They did not expect anyone to come for real.”
“They especially didn’t expect women, eh?”
“That amazes them. And Swan worries them. Their ancestors’ experiences with white devils were not positive.” Then, of course, the white crow swooped and landed on my shoulder. And the great black stallion, with its prune of a rider, came down to stick its nose in. And as the chatter picked up, still well-seasoned with “Stone Soldier” and “Soldier of Darkness” and “Steadfast Guardian,” the rest of the band drifted forward, impelled by curiosity. First thing I knew, Tobo was right there beside me, along with Runmust, Iqbal and Suruvhija and all their offspring, the dog, and ever-increasing jabber about what should we do with the Captured, where were we going to set up camp...
“You hearing these questions?” I asked Doj.
“I hear them. I think we’re going to be granted this whole valley. For the time being. While they send messages to the Court of All Seasons and the File of Nine. We’ll have more important visitors eventually. Until then — as I understand them — we can set down anywhere we want. The dialect is a little tricky, though, so be careful.”
Dozens of veteran eyes scanned the valley for defensible positions. It took no effort to identify them. They were the same as those we recalled from the Kiaulune wars.
I wondered if all the connected worlds would be equally familiar physically.
I indicated my choice. No one demurred. Runmust and the Singhs hurried off to survey the site, accompanied by a dozen men armed for anything. The five old monks did not protest. Mostly they seemed bemused and amazed.
So it was that the Black Company reached the Land of Unknown Shadows instead of fabled Khatovar. There it was that the Company settled and rested and recovered. There it was that I filled book after book with words when I was not planning or leading expeditions to rescue the rest of my captured brothers, and even that devil-dog Merika Montera so he would be available for another, rather less pleasant encounter with justice than the one that had driven him into exile. The grandchildren of his former slaves feared him not at all.
I won him a stay, at Lady’s request, so he could help with Tobo’s schooling. The stay was good for as long as he did that job satisfactorily and not for a moment more. The old monks, as tight of lip as their cousin Doj, agreed that Tobo had to be trained but would not reveal their reasoning even to me.
At one time the Land of the Unknown Shadows had suffered many lean, pale bonesacks just like Longshadow. They were invaders from another world. They had brought no wives with them. Time did not love them.
And thus it was. And thus it was.
Soldiers live. And wonder why.
One-Eye survived another four years, suffering strokes, yet recovering slowly every time. Seldom did he leave the house we built for him and Gota. Mostly he tinkered with his black spear while Gota hovered around and fussed. He fussed right back and never stopped worrying about Tobo’s education.
Once again Tobo was smothered in parents both real and surrogate.
He studied with One-Eye, he studied with Lady, he studied with Longshadow and Master Santaraksita, with the Radisha and the Prahbrindrah Drah, and with the masters of our adoptive world. He studied hard and well and much, much more than he wanted. He was very talented. He was what his great-grandmother H
ong Tray had foreseen.
The Captured all returned to us, except for those who died beneath the plain, but even the best of them — Murgen, Lady, the Captain — were strange and deeply changed. Fey. But we were changed as well, by life, so that those of us they remembered at all were almost alien to them.
A new order came into being.
It had to be.
Someday we will cross the plain again.
Water sleeps.
For now, I just rest. And indulge myself in writing, in remembering the fallen, in considering the strange twists life takes, in considering what plan God must have if the good are condemned to die young while the wicked prosper, if righteous men can commit deep evil while bad men demonstrate unexpected streaks of humanity.
Soldiers live. And wonder why.
99
The Great General started south through the Dandha Presh moments after the Protector abandoned him so she could make more speed. Consequently he met Soulcatcher on the southern side of the summit just a week later. She talked to herself continuously in a committee of voices while she was awake and gibbered in tongues during her brief bouts of sleep. Mogaba thought the Daughter of Night seemed smugly pleased in the moment before she collapsed from exhaustion.
“Kill them,” Mogaba urged the moment he had Soulcatcher’s ear and a bit of privacy. “Those two can be nothing but trouble and there’s no way you can profit from keeping them around.”
“Possibly true.” The Protector’s voice was a sly one. “But if I’m clever enough I can use the girl to tap into Kina’s power the way my sister did.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from a life noteworthy for its regiments of disappointments, it’s that you can’t rely on cleverness. You’re a powerful woman now. Kill them while you can. Kill them before they find a way to turn the tables. You don’t need to become any stronger. There’s no one in this world capable of challenging you.”
“There’s always someone, Mogaba.”
“Kill them. They sure won’t waste a second on you.”
Soulcatcher approached the Daughter of Night, who had not moved since her collapse. “My dear sweet niece wouldn’t harm me.” The voice she chose could have been that of a naive fourteen-year-old responding to the charge that her twenty-five-year-old lover was interested in only one thing. Then she laughed cruelly, kicked the Daughter of Night viciously. “You even think about it, bitch, and I’ll roast and eat you one limb at a time. And still make sure you live long enough to see your mother die first.”
The Great General neither moved nor made any remark. His face betrayed nothing, not even to Soulcatcher’s acute eye. But in his sinking heart he understood that yet again he had allied himself with complete and unpredictable insanity. And yet again he had no option but to ride the tiger. He observed, “Perhaps we should give thought to how to guard our minds against intrusion by the Queen of Terror and Darkness.”
“I’m ahead of you, General. I’m the professional.” This voice was that of a self-important little mouse of a functionary. It became that of a self-confident woman being conversational, the voice Mogaba suspected was Soulcatcher’s own. It resembled closely the voice of her sister, Lady. “For the last week I’ve had nothing to do but nurture the blisters on my feet and think. I conceived marvelous new torments to practice upon the Black Company — too late to enjoy them. Isn’t that the way it always goes? You always think of the perfect comeback about an hour too late for it to do any good? I suppose I’ll find other enemies and my innovation won’t be wasted. Most of the time, though, I considered how best to circumvent Kina’s power.” She did not fear naming the goddess directly. “We can do it.”
The Daughter of Night stirred slightly. Her shoulders tightened. She glanced up for an instant. She looked a little uncertain, a little troubled.
For the first time since her birth she was completely out of touch with her soul-mother. She had been out of touch for several days. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.
Soulcatcher eyed Narayan Singh. That old man was not much use anymore. She could test her new torments on him once she had him back in Taglios, before a suitable audience.
“General, if I get caught up in one of those byways that distract me so often, I want you to nudge me back to the business at hand. Which will be empire building. And, in my spare time, the creation of a new flying carpet. I think I know enough of the Howler’s secrets to manage. This past week has forced me to admit to myself that I have no innate fondness for exercise.”
Soulcatcher prodded the Daughter of Night again, then settled on a rotten log and removed her boots. “Mogaba, don’t ever tell anyone that you’ve seen the world’s greatest sorceress stumped for a way to handle something as trivial as blisters.”
Narayan Singh, who had been snoring fitfully, suddenly rose up and gripped the bars of his cage, his face contorted in terror, its butternut color all but gone. “Water sleeps!” he screamed. “Thi Kim! Thi Kim is coming!” Then he collapsed, unconscious again, though his body continued to spasm.
Soulcatcher growled softly. “Water sleeps? We’ll see what the dead can do.” They were all gone this time. It was her world now. “What else did he say?”
“Something that sounded like a Nyueng Bao name.”
“Uhm. Yes. But not a name. Something about death. Or a murder. Thi Kim. Coming. Hmm. Maybe a nickname? Murder walker? I should learn the language better.”
The Daughter of Night, she noted, was shaking more than Singh.
The wind whines and howls through fangs of ice. It races furiously around the nameless fortress but tonight neither the lightning nor the storm has any power to disturb. The creature on the wooden throne is relaxed. He will rest comfortably through a night of years for the first time in a long millennium. The silver daggers are no inconvenience at all.
Shivetya sleeps and dreams dreams of immortality’s end.
Fury crackles between the standing stones. Shadows flee. Shadows hide. Shadows huddle in terror.
Immortality is threatened.