The Return of the Black Company

by Cook, Glen

  She had appointed herself full-time family cook. Which meant that, even with the demands made by my travels with Smoke, I was in no danger of getting fat. She still lugged her personal arsenal. She acted like she knew how to use it those rare times she troubled to practice with Thai Dei and Uncle Doj. She did not talk to me much anymore. I was not the reason she was here. I was an inconvenience and an embarrassment.

  She knew none of this would have happened if love and Hong Tray had not gotten in the way of common sense and ancient custom.

  I was just as happy she stayed out of my way. I had my own feelings to tame. Among them was the conviction that life might have been much better for me had Sarie’s mother never come to stay with us. Sahra might even be alive still. Though there was no way I could work that out so that it fit any logic.

  * * *

  Much as Smoke called I decided to endure the pain. I had to get used to it sometime. So why not try walking around the camp again? I could stay away from the worst smoke.

  Thai Dei materialized almost as soon as I started moving. “Your sling and splints are gone,” I said. “Are you back on the job?”

  He nodded.

  “Sure it isn’t a little soon for that? You could break that arm again if you don’t give it time enough to heal.”

  Thai Dei shrugged. He was tired of being a cripple. That was that. Tough as he was, he was probably right.

  “What happened to Uncle Doj?” I had not seen the old boy for a while. If Thai Dei was back Doj might give in to an impulse to go after revenge on his own. His Path of the Sword thinking would find that perfectly reasonable.

  Thai Dei shrugged.

  He was lucky he did not have to talk for a living. There would be even less of him than there is now.

  “Help me out here, brother. I’m going to get real upset if that old man gets himself killed.” Uncle Doj was not ancient. He had maybe ten years on the Old Man and was more spry than Croaker.

  “He would not do that.”

  “Glad to hear it. Trouble is, anybody can. While we’re at it, remind him to try not being so weird in front of people who don’t know us. The Captain didn’t survive Dejagore with us.”

  Thai Dei was positively loquacious all of a sudden. “He lived his own hell.” Which was true but not a point I would expect Nyueng Bao to note.

  “He sure did. And it twisted him. Same as Dejagore twisted us. He doesn’t trust anybody anymore. That’s a lonely way to be but he just can’t help it. And he especially don’t trust people whose beliefs and business and motives are completely opaque to him.”

  “Uncle?”

  “You have to admit that Uncle Doj is odd even by Nyueng Bao standards.”

  Thai Dei grunted, conceding the point privately.

  “He makes the Captain very nervous.” And the Captain was a very powerful man.

  “I understand.”

  “I hope so.” Ordinarily even Doj has to pry words out of Thai Dei so I felt rewarded. He remained talkative. I learned a good deal about his childhood with Sahra, which was pretty unremarkable. He believed there was a curse on their family. His father had died when he and Sahra were children. His wife My had drowned when their son To Tan was only a few months old, early in the pilgrimage that had brought the Nyueng Bao into Dejagore just in time for the siege. Sahra had married Sam Danh Qu, who had put her through several years of hell before he died of that fever in the early days of the siege. Then the children had all died, Sahra’s under the swords of Mogaba’s men in Dejagore, To Tan during the Strangler raid that had ended with my wife dead and Thai Dei’s arm broken.

  Evidently nobody in this family ever died of old age. This dying family. Mother Gota would bear no more children. Thai Dei had the capacity to become a father again but I did not expect that to happen. I expected Thai Dei to get killed avenging his sister and son.

  Thai Dei stopped being communicative when To Tan’s name came up.

  * * *

  The army lined up so: Lady’s division to the left, the Prince’s in the center, the Captain’s two to the right, stacked one behind the other. All our cavalry assembled in the gap between the front and trailing divisions.

  Why? The reserve division belongs behind the center. That has been customary since the dawn of time.

  And why did Croaker station all his specially trained units behind or beyond Lady’s division?

  Either the Old Man thought he could dive Mogaba berserk trying to winkle out the answers or he was letting his hatred for Blade and his paranoia define his tactics.

  And why were the camp followers, voluntarily or otherwise, being gathered together right on the front line? Croaker hated camp followers. That he had not run them off weeks ago was a wonder to all who knew him.

  I could not find Uncle Doj. Still.

  23

  I felt it begin before any growl of drum or snarl of trumpet. I ran for the wagon, leaping rocks and fires in the mist.

  I had Smoke take me up where Mogaba watched from his high tower, sensed uncertainty immediately. He knew Croaker. He knew that half what the Old Man did would be done to mess with his mind. But which half?

  The knowing itself would cause a hesitation at every point of decision.

  I loathed Mogaba the traitor but admired Mogaba the man. He was tall, handsome, intelligent. Just like me. But he was the perfect warrior, too.

  He had no company but couriers and the two big wazoos. And they were doing a great imitation of two guys sleeping. Their strategy was to wait for Lady to make a move so one could grab her while the other one blindsided her.

  Mogaba’s platform provided a less than perfect view though probably the best attainable. A portion of his left flank was masked by a jumble of boulders while to his right a steep knee of stone concealed his flank there along with a portion of the Taglian left wing.

  I took Smoke up amongst the crows for a vulture’s-eye view. The smoke was thinning out. People were stumbling uphill, unable to make an orderly advance over the rocky ground.

  Now I understood why the troops had been issued calthrops.

  Calthrops are like large kids’ jacks, only the tips are sharp and sometimes poisoned. The calthrop is a handy tool if you have to run for it, particularly if the guys after you are going to be on horseback. You scatter calthrops where horses have to follow narrow paths and you have yourself a guaranteed head start—or even grounds for a nasty ambush.

  Aha! I spied the missing complimentary in-law.

  Uncle Doj was dressed up in his best outfit, his holy fencing duds, like he maybe did not want us going to a whole lot of trouble when we laid him out. Hell. I would have to check with Thai Dei on Nyueng Bao funeral customs. A lot of Nyueng Bao had died around me but I never took part in what went on later.

  I still resented being left out when they took care of To Tan and Sahra without me.

  Uncle Doj strutted uphill till he was just fifty feet from the first line of Shadowlanders. He stopped and bellowed a challenge to Narayan Singh.

  Guess who did not come out to fight? Nobody even answered. Nobody even bothered to relay the message to the Deceiver camp.

  Uncle Doj began issuing a series of formal insults, belittling the Deceivers and all their allies. Trouble was, they were formal insults from a stylized school of challenge and response. He did not know how to make his presentation in a manner accessible to people who did not speak Nyueng Bao.

  Poor Uncle. Forty years of intense preparation brought him to the ultimate moment—and all those guys over there saw was a crazy old man.

  Doj began to get it.

  He began to get angry for real. He started yelling his challenges in Taglian. A few Shadowlanders understood him. His message soon reached the Deceivers. It was not well received.

  I found the show as amusing as anything could be out there.

  None of this was part of the Captain’s plan.

  Uncle kept hollering.

  Over in the Deceiver camp the miniature messiah of the Strang
lers told his cronies, “We will not respond. We will wait. Darkness is our time. And darkness always comes.” After a pause he asked, “Who is that man?”

  A wide, creepy-looking guy told him, “He was in Dejagore. One of the Nyueng Bao pilgrims.” The man speaking was named Sindhu. He had come into Dejagore during the siege to spy for Lady and for the Deceivers. He was a real villain. I had been sure he was dead.

  The Sahras die but the Sindhus and Narayan Singhs go on. Which is why I cannot be a religious man. Unless the Gunni are right and there is a wheel of life and eventually everybody gets what they deserve.

  Sindhu continued, “He was a priest of some kind and their Speaker. A member of his family eventually wed the standardbearer of the Black Company.”

  “It becomes clear. The Goddess is scribbling one of her subtle death plays.” He glanced at the Daughter of Night. The kid sat so still it was spooky. Spookier than usual. No four-year-old could do that.

  Narayan Singh seemed vaguely troubled. His goddess enjoyed the occasional death joke at the expense of her most devout followers. He did not want to become one of her pranks.

  “Darkness is our time,” he said again. “Darkness always comes.”

  Darkness always comes. Sounded like Kina’s motto. I took another look at Lady and Croaker’s brat. She bothered me bad. She was spookier every time I looked. If it had not been so hard to care out there I could have cried for Lady and the Old Man.

  Actually, I almost could. Maybe I was becoming capable of feeling while I worked.

  I drifted away, found that Mogaba was taking stronger exception to Uncle’s antics than was Singh. But he remembered Uncle Doj from the bad old days. “I want that man silenced,” he said. “The soldiers are watching him instead of their enemies.”

  When he drew no response from the Deceivers, Uncle Doj began insulting the Shadowlanders and their masters. A javelin streaked his way. In a motion too swift to follow he drew Ash Wand and brushed the missile aside. “Cowards!” he called “Renegades! Are any of you Nar men enough to come out?” He exposed his back contemptuously, headed for friendly lines before a missile storm could devour him. A masterful move, it did not look like a withdrawal at all.

  24

  All hell broke loose.

  Horns shrieked. Drums grumbled. A stumbling, shambling, inept, mean-spirited and poorly armed rabble headed uphill wailing, sixty thousand hungry and hard-up camp followers attacking the servants of shadow. Our soldiers drove them at swordspoint.

  I was stunned. I was awed. The Captain had his hard moments but I never figured him for hard enough to let camp followers accumulate and tag along so he could use them as a human avalanche. But on reflection, yes, for weeks he had been warning the soldiers not to let anyone they cared for join the march. Those who discussed it at all thought it meant that the Old Man did not expect to be successful.

  Those people were going to get slaughtered. But they would hurt some Shadowlanders and grind the rest down, which would work to our advantage.

  The soldiers were merciless. They whipped the camp followers into a terrified frenzy. When they hit Mogaba’s center and right they actually penetrated the Shadowlander front rank.

  Blade’s division remained untouched.

  While everyone was concentrating on our attack, Croaker’s special forces left Lady’s shadow and hastened into the wastes flanking the pass. Mogaba had sentries concealed in amongst those rocks, of course. Fighting broke out immediately.

  Our elephants moved forward behind the troops pushing the camp followers. The Shadowlanders were too busy to bother them. The elephants used huge mallets to drive big iron spikes into the earth.

  Came a shrill of brassy Shadowlander trumpets. For no reason I could discern Blade’s division suddenly moved out, left oblique, downhill, at an angle that would take it around our right flank. I marvelled at how well his men maintained formation crossing that rough ground.

  Now I got to witness one of Longshadow’s epic rages. “You have gone too far this time!” he thundered at Mogaba, once he controlled himself enough to manage a coherent sentence. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, making moves like that without consulting me? At least explain your thinking!” While he yelled he stamped around the rough platform, shaking, clawing at his mask till I thought he might show the world the face he kept hidden except when he was alone.

  “I have no idea what he’s doing.” Mogaba ignored the Shadowmaster’s rage. He leaned on the platform rail, stared at Blade’s division and looked as confused as ever I had seen. “Be quiet.”

  Howler punctuated the racket with a series of shrieks.

  Longshadow became incoherent again.

  Taglian trumpets blared. Shadar cavalrymen galloped out of the gap between the Old Man’s two divisions and rushed into that between Blade’s division and the rest of the Shadowlander army. Their movement was a lot less impressive than Blade’s. They did not even pretend to maintain formation once they were moving.

  Blade ignored them. He continued his march.

  Mogaba became as excited as ever I have seen him. He did not have a clue what Blade was up to.

  Longshadow and Howler nearly came to blows.

  What the hell was going on?

  Sudden drums announced the advance of Croaker’s lead division. It headed straight into the space vacated by Blade’s force. The cavalry drifted onward, screening the division’s outside flank. Then the reserve division faced right and began to follow Blade.

  And I gawked.

  * * *

  Events were unfolding as though carefully choreographed yet nobody knew what was going on. Confusion was universal. In some more remote areas, like Lady’s command post, people had no idea at all.

  The Captain might have had some idea but he seemed to be running in three directions at once, trying to obtain control, keep control, keep in touch. He was unable to keep a grasp on the bigger picture.

  I could give him no help. By the time I could return to flesh, get myself moving, find him at the front a mile from One-Eye’s wagon, the whole situation would have changed radically.

  On our left and in our center our soldiers continued to drive the camp followers ahead of them. That was turning into a horror show of proportions sure to be recalled for generations.

  Croaker’s lead division engaged the Shadowlanders directly, attempting to secure the position Blade had abandoned. Mogaba’s reserves rushed in. They fought very well. They pushed Croaker back. Barely. I got the feeling the Old Man was not ready to make a total effort to gain the position.

  One company of Shadar, towering over their enemies, did get within bowshot of the Strangler camp. For several minutes a handful of archers laid down a desultory barrage that did no apparent damage.

  At the same time Howler managed to get through to Longshadow. “We do not have the luxury of spending time squabbling among ourselves! The woman could strike any moment. If you’re not paying attention…”

  Several strong sallies in the same vein led the Shadowmaster to understand that indulging in a fit left him vulnerable to sorcerous attack. And his sidekick could not protect him all the time. He was having a rash of his own screaming fits.

  Still shaking, unable to articulate clearly, Longshadow concentrated his attention on Lady.

  Lady was just standing there, waiting.

  Mogaba tried to get Longshadow’s attention. The Shadowmaster remained focused on Lady. Mogaba persisted. He got Longshadow to turn around only after it looked like the crisis had passed. The terror applied by our troops no longer was sufficient to keep the camp followers moving uphill. The Captain’s division had withdrawn to its jump-off position. Blade’s force had halted two miles west of the battlefield. It was surrounded by our cavalry and the reserve division. The Shadowlanders in the unit were as baffled as everyone else. But they were good soldiers. They carried out their orders.

  Mogaba told Longshadow, “We have been deceived, not in any way we anticipated. With one clever st
roke Croaker has decimated us. It is now unlikely that I can hold this ground if you won’t modify your general orders.”

  Longshadow grunted an angry interrogative.

  Mogaba told him, “Our best hope now is to attack while the Taglians are disorganized and scattered, before our own soldiers realize how suddenly desperate our situation has become.”

  Longshadow did not see it that way. “Once again you forget that your mission is to carry out my wishes, not to question them. Why must you be so negative?” He stared at Blade’s force, only part of which was visible from where he stood. Clearly he was troubled by negative thoughts of his own. “You repelled their attack easily.”

  Mogaba restrained his anger with difficulty. I wished someone, anyone, had an idea of Longshadow’s antecedents. Sometimes the man was as naïve as he was powerful.

  Mogaba threw an arm up as though indicating Blade. “We were taken in. An entire legion has just been lost because you were so eager to enlist another ranking defector.”

  Dumb old me, I did not understand what he was saying. I had not made the intuitive leap.

  Longshadow did not yet understand that there was a leap to be made. He saw only a triumph in the opening bout of the contest. “How many have we killed? See! The dead fell in windrows. They lie there in veritable hills. Count them in their thousands. These crows will feast for an age to come.”

  But the man inside was troubled. He continued to stare toward Blade’s force.

  Mogaba barked, “Maybe one out of a hundred of those dead was a soldier. Those were all camp followers, the thieves and whores and hungry mouths that become parasitic on any army that permits it. They were useless tagalong scum. Croaker used them to keep us occupied while he stole a quarter of our strength and all of our hope. His veterans now outnumber ours significantly. And most of them are fresh.” He indicated the heights to his right, where Croaker’s special forces continued to gain ground. “They’ll soon take the high ground. They came prepared to take it.”