by Glen Cook
Every face within earshot went blank.
“We’re still the Black Company. We still don’t leave our own behind.” Which was never strictly true but you do have to serve an ideal the best you can, lest it become debased. A law as ancient as coinage itself says bad money will drive out good. The same is true of principles, ethics and rules of conduct. If you always do the easier thing, then you cannot possibly remain steadfast when it becomes necessary to take a difficult stand. You must do what you know to be right. And you do know. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred you do know and you are just making excuses because the right thing is so hard, or just inconvenient.
“Here’s his badge,” Goblin said, producing a beautifully crafted silver skull in which the one ruby eye seemed to glow with an inner life. Sindawe had made that himself. It was an exquisite piece from talented hands. “You want to take it?”
That was the custom, gradually developed since the adoption of the badges under Soulcatcher’s suzerainty back when the Captain was just a young tagalong with a quill pen. The badges of the fallen were passed down to interested newcomers, who were expected to learn their lineage and thus keep the names alive.
It is immortality of a sort.
I jumped. Sahra made a startled noise. I recalled that something similar had happened to Murgen last time. Although in that case, only he had sensed it. I thought. Maybe I ought to consult him. An entire squad of soldiers had been assigned to tend and transport the mist projector as delicately as was humanly possible. Even Tobo was under orders to match his pace to that manageable by the crew moving our most valuable resource.
Tobo had not done a good job of conforming.
Carts creaked past. Pack animals shied away from Sindawe’s remains but never so far they risked straying from the safety of the road. I had begun to suspect that they could sense the danger better than I could because I had to rely entirely upon intellect for my own salvation. Only the black stallion seemed unmoved by Sindawe’s fate.
The white crow seemed very much interested in the corpse. I had the feeling Sindawe was someone it knew and mourned. Ridiculous, of course. Unless that was Murgen inside there, as someone had suggested, trapped outside his own time.
Master Santaraksita came along, leading a donkey. Baladitya the copyist bestrode the beast. He studied a book as he rode, completely out of touch with his surroundings. Perhaps that was because he could not see them. Or he did not believe in the world outside his books. He had the lead rope of another donkey tied to his wrist. That poor beast staggered under a load consisting mostly of books and the tools of the librarian’s trade. Among the books were some of the Annals, on loan, including those that I had salvaged from the library.
Santaraksita pulled out of line. “This is so absolutely exciting, Dorabee. Having adventures at my age. Being pursued through ancient, eldritch, living artifacts by terrible sorcerers and unearthly powers. It’s like stepping into the pages of the old Vedas.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it so much. This man used to be one of our brothers. His adventure caught up with him about fourteen years ago.”
“And he’s still in one piece?”
“Nothing lives on the plain unless it has the plain’s countenance. Even including the flies and carrion eaters you’d expect to find around a corpse anywhere.”
“But there are crows here.” He indicated birds circling at a distance. I had not noticed them because they were making no sounds and there were only a few of them in the air. As many as a dozen more perched atop the stone columns. The nearest of those were now just a few hundred yards ahead.
“They’re not here to feast,” I said. “They’re the Protector’s eyes. They run to her and repeat whatever we do. If they touch down after dark, they’ll end up just as dead as Sindawe did. Hey, Swan. Right now, up and down the column, pass the word. Nobody does anything to bother those crows. It might break holes in the protection the road gives against the shadows.”
“You’re determined to put me on Catcher’s shit list, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“She doesn’t know I’m not dead, does she? Those crows are going to put the finger on me.”
I laughed. “Soulcatcher’s displeasure shouldn’t worry you right now. She can’t get to you.”
“You never know.” He went off to tell everybody I wanted those watchcrows treated like favored pets.
“A strange and intriguing man,” Santaraksita observed.
“Strange, anyway. But he’s a foreigner.”
“We’re all foreigners here, Dorabee.”
That was true. Very true. I could close my eyes and still be overwhelmed by the strangeness of the plain. In fact, I felt that more strongly when I was not looking at it. When my eyes were closed it seemed as aware of me as I was aware of it.
Once we got Sindawe loaded I continued walking beside Master Santaraksita. The librarian was every bit as excited as he claimed. Everything was a wonder to him. Except the weather. “Is it always this cold here, Dorabee?”
“It’s not even winter yet.” He knew about snow only by repute. Ice he knew as something that fell from the sky during the ferocious storms of the rainy season. “It could get a lot colder. I don’t know. Swan says he don’t recall it being this chilly the last time he was up here but that was at a different time of year and the circumstances of the incursion were different.” I was willing to bet that seldom in its history had the plain ever experienced the crying of a colicky baby or the barking of a dog. One of the children had sneaked the dog along and now it was too late to change anyone’s mind.
“How long will we be up here?”
“Ah. The question nobody’s had the nerve to ask. You’re more familiar with the early Annals than I am anymore. You’ve had months and months to study them while I haven’t had time to keep my own up to date. What did they tell you about the plain?”
“Nothing.”
“Not who built it? Not why? By implication Kina is involved somehow. So are the Free Companies of Khatovar and the golem demon Shivetya. At least we think the thing in the fortress up ahead is the demon who’s supposed to stand guard over Kina’s resting place. Not very effectively, apparently, because the ancient king Rhaydreynak drove the Deceivers of his time into the same caverns where Soulcatcher trapped the Captured. And we know that the Books of the Dead are down there somewhere. We know that Uncle Doj says—without offering any convincing evidence—the Nyueng Bao are the descendants of another Free Company, but we also know that Uncle and Mother Gota sometimes mention things that aren’t part of the usual lore.”
“Dorabee?”
Santaraksita I found wore that expression he always put on when I surprised him. I grinned, told him, “I rehearse all this every day, twenty times a day. I just don’t usually do it out loud. I believe I was hoping you would add something to the mix. Is there anything? By direct experience we know that it takes three days to get to the fortress. I assume that stronghold is located at the heart of the plain. We know there’s a network of protected roads and circles where those roads intersect. Where roads exist there must be someplace to go. To me that says there must be at least one more Shadowgate somewhere.” I looked up. “You think?”
“You bet our survival on the possibility that there’s another way off the plain?”
“Yep. We didn’t have anywhere left to run back there.”
There was that look again.
Suvrin, plodding along and listening in silence, had that look, too.
I said, “Although I’ve been surrounded by Gunni all my life, I’m still unfamiliar with the more obscure legendry. And I know even less about that of the older, less well-known, non-proselytizing cults. What do you know about The Land of Unknown Shadows? It seems to be tied in with aphorisms like ‘All Evil Dies There an Endless Death’ and ‘Calling the Heaven and the Earth and the Day and the Night.’”
“The last one is easy, Dorabee. That’s an invocation of the Supreme Being. You might also
hear it as the formula ‘Calling the Earth and the Wind and the Sea and the Sky,’ or even ‘Calling Yesterday and Today and Tonight and Tomorrow.’ You spout those off thoughtlessly because they’re easy and you have to deliver a certain number of prayers every day. I’m sure Vehdna who actually keep up with their prayers take the same shortcuts.”
Twinges of guilt. My duties of faith had suffered abominably the past six months. “Are you sure?”
“No. But it sure sounded good, didn’t it? Easy! You asked about Gunni. I could be wrong in a different religious context.”
“Of course. How about Bone Warrior, Stone Soldier, or Soldier of Darkness?”
“Excuse me? Dorabee?”
“Never mind. Unless something related occurs to you. I’d better trot up the line and get Tobo slowed down again.”
As I passed the black stallion and white crow, the latter chuckled and whispered that “Sister, sister” phrase again. The bird had heard the entire conversation. Chances were that it was not Murgen, nor was it Soulcatcher’s creature, but still, it was extremely interested in the doings of the Black Company, to the point of trying to give warnings. It seemed quite pleased that we were headed south and were unable to turn back.
Behind me, Master Santaraksita’s group paused. He and Baladitya studied the face of the first stone column, where golden characters still sparked occasionally.
It is immortality of a sort.
73
The people of the former Shadowlands clung to the best cover available while they watched Nemesis cross their country in a slow and angry progression toward the pass through the Dandha Presh. In more than one place Soulcatcher’s appearance gave rise to the rumor that Khadi had been reborne and was walking through the world again.
She always did love a good practical joke.
What the witnesses saw seemed to be the goddess in her most terrible aspect. She was naked except for a girdle of dried penises and a necklace of babies’ skulls. Her skin was a polished-mahogany black. She was hairless everywhere. She had vampire fangs and an extra pair of arms. She seemed about ten feet tall. What she did not seem was happy. People stayed out of her way.
She was not alone. In her wake came an equally naked woman as white as Soulcatcher was dark. She was five and a half feet tall. Even covered with cuts and bruises and dirt, she was attractive. Her face was empty of all expression but her eyes burned with patient hatred. She wore only one item of ornamentation, a shoulder harness to which a cable ten feet long had been attached. That cable connected her to the rusty iron cage floating in the air behind her. The cage enclosed a skinny old man who had suffered several severe injuries, including a broken leg and some bad burns. The girl was compelled to tow the cage. She never spoke, even when the monster encouraged her with a switch. Possibly she had lost the faculty.
Narayan Singh had been the unfortunate who triggered Goblin’s booby trap, not its beloved intended.
The Deceiver shared the cage with a large bound book. He was too weak to keep it closed. Wind toyed with its pages. Once in a while the breeze showed its vicious side and yanked a page away from the book’s tired binding.
Sometimes delirious, Narayan thought he was in the hands of his goddess, either being punished for some forgotten transgression or transported to Paradise. And perhaps he was right. It did not occur to Soulcatcher to wonder what use she had for him alive. Not that she was taking any special trouble to keep him that way. Nor did the Daughter of Night seem particularly concerned about his fate.
74
I managed to overtake Tobo before he sped through the crossroads’ circle. “We’re stopping here,” I told him, hanging onto his shoulder.
He looked at me like he was trying to remember who I was.
“Back up to the circle.”
“All right. You don’t have to be so pushy.”
“Good. The real you is back. Yes. I do. No one else seems to be able to restrain you.” As we stepped into the circle, I told him, “There should be a … yes. Right here.” There was a hole in the roadway surface, four inches deep and as big around as my wrist. “Put the handle of the pickax in that.”
“Why?”
“If the shadows can get inside the protected areas, that’s the direction they’ll come from. Come on. Do it. We’ve got a ton of work to do if we’re going to set up a safe camp.” There were too many of us to get everyone inside the circle. That meant some would have to overnight on the road, not a practice encouraged by Murgen.
I wanted only the calmest personalities back there. Murgen guaranteed that every night on the plain would be some kind of adventure.
Suvrin found me trying to get Iqbal and his family moved toward the heart of the circle. The animals were hobbled there. And I had a feeling that the plain really did not like being trampled upon by things with such hard feet. “What is it, Suvrin?”
“Master Santaraksita would like to see you at your earliest convenience.” He grinned like he was having a wonderful time.
“Suvrin, have you been getting into the ganja or something?”
“I’m just happy. I missed the Protector’s state visit. Therefore I’m all right until sometime that’s still far off yet. I’m on the greatest adventure of my life, going places no one of my generation would have thought possible even a few weeks ago. It won’t last. It just plain won’t last. The way my luck runs. But I’m for damned sure having fun now. Except my feet hurt.”
“Welcome to the Black Company. Get used to it. Bunions should be our seal, not a fire-breathing skull. Did anyone learn anything useful today?”
“My guess would be that Master Santaraksita might have come up with something. Else why would he bother to send me to find you?”
“You got bold and sarky fast once you got up here.”
“I’ve always thought I’m more likable when I’m not afraid.”
I glanced around. I wondered if stupid ought not to be in there somewhere, too. “Show me where the old boy is.”
Suvrin had the chatters. Bad, for him. “He’s a wonder, isn’t he?”
“Santaraksita? I don’t know about that. He’s something. Keep an eye out that you don’t accidentally find his hand fishing around in your pants.”
Suvrin had made camp for himself and the older men right at the edge of the circle, on its eastern side. Santaraksita had to have picked the spot. It was directly opposite the nearest standing stone. The librarian was seated Gunnistyle, cross-legged, as near the edge as he dared get, staring at the pillar. “Is that you, Dorabee? Come sit with me.”
I overcame a burst of impatience, settled. I was out of shape for that. The Company continued its northern habits—using chairs and stools and whatnot—even though we now had only two Old Crew souls left. Such is inertia. “What are we looking for, Master?” It was obvious he was watching the standing stone.
“Let’s see if you’re as bright as I believe you are.”
There was a challenge I could not ignore. I stared at the column and waited for truth to declare itself.
A group of the characters on the pillar brightened momentarily. That had nothing to do with the light of the setting sun, which had begun creeping in under the edge of the clouds. That was painting everything bloody. After a while I told Santaraksita, “It seems to be illuminating groups of characters according to some pattern.”
“Mainly in reading order, I think.”
“Down? And to the left?”
“Reading downward in columns isn’t uncommon in the temple literature of antiquity. Some inks dried quite slowly. If you wrote in horizontal lines, you sometimes smeared your earlier work. Writing downward in columns right to left suggests to me left-handedness. Possibly those who placed the stellae were mostly left-handed.”
It struck me that writing whatever way was convenient for you personally could lead to a lot of confusion. I said so.
“Absolutely, Dorabee. Deciphering classical writing is always a challenge. Particularly if the ancient copyists had time
on their hands and were inclined to play pranks. I’ve seen manuscripts put together so that they could be read both horizontally and vertically and each way tells a different story. Definitely the work of someone who had no worries about his next meal. Today’s formal rules have been around for only a few generations. They were agreed upon simply so we could read one another’s work. And they still haven’t penetrated the lay population to any depth.”
Most of that I knew already. But he needed his moments of pedantry to feel complete. They cost me nothing. “And what do we have here?”
“I’m not sure. My eyes aren’t sharp enough to pick up everything. But the characters on the stone closely resemble those in your oldest book and I’ve been able to discern a few simple words.” He showed me what he had written down. It was not enough to make sense of anything.
“Mostly I think we’re looking at names. Possibly arranged in a holy scripture sort of way. Maybe a roll-call-of-the-ancestors kind of thing.”
“It is immortality of a sort.”
“Perhaps. Certainly you can find similarly conceived monuments in almost every older city. Iron was a popular material for those who considered themselves truly rich and historically significant. Generally, though, they were erected to celebrate individuals, notably kings and conquerers, who wanted following generations to know all about them.”
“And every one of those I’ve ever seen was a complete puzzle to the people living around it now. Thus, a feeble immortality of a sort.”
“And there’s the point. We’ll all achieve our immortality in the next world, however we may conceive that, but we all want to be remembered in this one. I suppose so that when the newly dead arrive in heaven, they’ll already know who we are. And, yes, even though I am a devout, practicing Gunni, I’m very cynical about what humanity brings to the religious experience.”
“I’m always intrigued by your thinking, Master Santaraksita, but in today’s circumstances I just don’t have time to sit around musing on humanity’s innumerable foibles. Nor even those of God. Or the gods, if you prefer.”