The Black Company tbc-1

by Glen Charles Cook

  Despite several yards of intervening earth, I heard something moving through the basement above. Drag-thump.

  Drag-thump. The rhythm of a crippled man walking. My gaze, too, locked on the secret door.

  The earth shook its most violent yet. The doorway exploded inward. The far end of the sub-basement caved in. Men screamed as the earth swallowed them. The human herd shoved this way and that in search of an escape that did not exist. Only Shifter and I were not caught up in it. We watched from an island of calm.

  All the lamps had died. The only light came from the gap at the head of the stair, sliding around a silhouette which, at that moment, seemed vile just in its stance. I had cold, clammy skin and violent shakes. It was not just because I had heard so much about the Limper. He exuded something that made me feel like an arachnophobe might if you dropped a big hairy spider into his lap.

  I glanced at Shifter. He was Cornie, just another of the Rebel crew. Did he have some special reason for not wanting to be recognized by the Limper?

  He did something with his hands.

  A blinding light filled the pit. I could not see. I heard beams creaking and giving way. This time I did not hesitate. I joined the rush to the stair.

  I suppose the Limper was more startled than anyone else. He had not expected any serious opposition. Shifter’s trick caught him off guard. The rush swept over him before he could protect himself.

  Shifter and I were the last up the stair. I skipped over the Limper, a small man in brown who did not look terrible at all as he writhed on the floor. I looked for the stair to the street level. Shifter grabbed my arm. His grip was undeniable. “Help me,” He planted a boot against the Limper’s ribs, started rolling him through the entrance to the sub-basement.

  Down below, men groaned and cried out for help. Sections of floor on our level were sagging, collapsing. More

  in fear that I would be trapped if we did not hurry than out of any desire to inconvenience the Limper, I helped Shifter dump the Taken into the pit.

  Shifter grinned, gave me a thumbs up. He did something with his fingers. The collapse accelerated. He seized my arm and headed for the stairs. We piled into the street amidst the grandest uproar in Oar’s recent history.

  The foxes were in the henhouse. Men were running hither and yon yelling incoherently. Elmo and the Company were all around them, driving them inward, cutting them down. The Rebels were too confused to defend themselves.

  Had it not been for Shifter, I suppose, I would not have survived that. He did something that turned the points of arrows and swords. Cunning beast that I am, I stayed in his shadow till we were safely behind Company lines.

  It was a great victory for the Lady. It exceeded Elmo’s wildest hopes. Before the dust settled the purge had taken virtually every committed Rebel in Oar. Shifter stayed in the thick of it. He gave us invaluable assistance and had a grand time smashing things up. He was as happy as a child starting fires.

  Then he disappeared as utterly as if he had never existed. And we, so exhausted we were crawling around like lizards, assembled outside Comic’s stable. Elmo took the roll.

  All accounted for but one. “Where’s Raven?” Elmo asked.

  I told him, “I think he got buried when that house fell in. Him and Zouad both.”

  One-Eye observed, “Kind of fitting. Ironic but fitting. Hate to see him go, though. He played a mean game of Tonk.”

  “The Limper is down there too?” Elmo asked.

  I grinned. “I helped bury him,”

  “And Shifter is gone.”

  I had begun to sense a disturbing pattern. I wanted to know if it was just my imagination. I brought it up while the men were getting ready to return to Deal. “You know, the only people who saw Shifter were on our side. The Rebel and the Limper saw a lot of us. Especially of you, Elmo. And me and Raven. Cornie will turn up dead. I have a feeling Shifter’s finesse didn’t have much to do with getting Zouad or wiping out the local Rebel hierarchy. I think we were put on the spot where the Limper is concerned. Very craftily.”

  Elmo likes to come across as a big, dumb country boy turned soldier, but he is sharp. He not only saw what I meant, he immediately connected it with the broader picture of politicking among the Taken. “We’ve got to get the hell away from here before the Limper digs his way out. And I don’t mean just away from Oar. I mean Forsberg. Soulcatcher has put us on the board as his frontline pawns. We’re liable to get caught between a rock and a hard place.” He chewed his lip for a second, then started acting like a sergeant, bellowing at anybody not moving fast enough to suit him.

  He was in a near panic, but was a soldier to the bone. Our departure was no rout. We went out escorting the provision wagons Candy’s patrol had come to collect. He told me, “I’ll go crazy after we get back. I’ll go out and chew down a tree, or something.” And after a few miles, thoughtfully, “Been trying to decide who ought to break the news to Darling. Croaker, you just volunteered. You’ve got the right touch.”

  So I had me something to keep my mind occupied during the ride. Damn that Elmo!

  The great brouhaha in Oar was not the end of it. Ripples spread. Consequences piled up. Fate shoved its badfinger in.

  Raker launched a major offensive while the Limper was digging his way out of the rubble. He did so unaware that his enemy was absent from the field, but the effect was the same. The Limper’s army collapsed. Our victory went for naught. Rebel bands whooped through Oar, hunting the Lady’s agents.

  We, thanks to Soulcatcher’s foresight, were moving south when the collapse came, so we avoided becoming involved. We went into garrison at Elm credited with several dramatic victories, and the Limper fled into the Salient with the remnants of his force, branded as an incompetent. He knew who had done him in, but there wasn’t anything he could do. His relationship with the Lady was too precarious. He dared do nothing but remain her faithful lapdog. He would have to come up with some outstanding victories before he thought about settling with us or Soulcatcher.

  I did not feel that comforted. The worm has a way of turning, given time.

  Raker was so enthusiastic over his success that he did not slow down after he conquered Forsberg. He turned southward. Soulcatcher ordered us out of Elm only a week after we had settled in.

  Did the Captain get upset about what had happened? Was he displeased because so many of his men had gone off on their own, exceeding or stretching his instructions? Let’s just say the extra duty assignments were enough to break the back of an ox. Let’s say the madonnas of the night in Elm were severely disappointed in the Black Company. I do not want to think about it. The man is a diabolic genius.

  The platoons were on review. The wagons were loaded and ready to roll. The Captain and-Lieutenant were conferring with their sergeants. One-Eye and Goblin were playing some sort of game with little shadow creatures making war in the comers of the compound. Most of us were watching and betting this way or that depending on shifts of fortune. The gateman shouted, “Rider coming in.”

  Nobody paid any attention. Messengers came and went all day.

  The gate swung inward. And Darling began clapping her hands. She ran toward the gateway.

  Through it, looking as rough as the day we had met him, rode our Raven. He scooped up Darling and gave her a big hug, perched her astride his mount before him, and reported to the Captain. I heard him say that all his debts were paid, and that he no longer had any interests outside the Company.

  The Captain stared at him a long time, then nodded and told him to take his place in ranks.

  He had used us, and while doing so had found himself a new home. He was welcome to the family.

  We rode out, bound for a new garrison in the Salient.

  Chapter Three

  Raker

  The wind tumbled and bumbled and howled around Meystrikt. Arctic imps giggled and blew their frigid breath through chinks in the walls of my quarters. My lamplight flickered and danced, barely surviving. When my fingers stiffe
ned, I folded them round the flame and let them toast.

  The wind was a hard blow out of the north, gritty with powdered snow. A foot had fallen during the night. More was coming. It would bring more misery with it. I pitied Elmo and his gang. They were out Rebel hunting.

  Meystrikt Fortress. Pearl of the Salient defenses. Frozen in winter. Swampy in spring. An oven in summer. White Rose prophets and Rebel mainforcers were the least of our troubles.

  The Salient is a long arrowhead of flatland pointing south, between mountain ranges. Meystrikt lies at its point. It funnels weather and enemies down onto the stronghold. Our assignment is to hold this anchor of the Lady’s northern defenses.

  Why the Black Company?

  We are the best. The Rebel infection began seeping through the Salient soon after the fall of Forsberg. The Limper tried to stop it and failed. The Lady set us to clean up the Limper’s mess. Her only other option was to abandon another province.

  The gate watch sounded a trumpet. Elmo was coming in.

  There was no rush to greet him. The rules call for casualness, for a pretense that your guts are not churning with dread. Instead, men peeped from hidden places, wondering about brothers who had gone a-hunting. Anybody lost? Anyone bad hurt? You know them better than kin. You had fought side by side for years. Not all of them were friends, but they were family. The only family you had.

  The gateman hammered ice off the windlass. Shrieking its protests, the portcullis rose. As Company historian I could go greet Elmo without violating the unwritten rules. Fool that I am, I went out into the wind and chill.

  A sorry lot of shadows loomed through the blowing snow. The ponies were dragging. Their riders slumped over icy manes. Animals and men hunched into themselves, trying to escape the wind’s scratching talons. Clouds of breath smoked from mounts and men, and were ripped away. This, in painting form, would have made a snowman shiver.

  Of the whole Company only Raven ever saw snow before this winter. Some welcome to service with the Lady.

  The riders came closer. They looked more like refugees than brothers of the Black Company. Ice-diamonds twinkled in Elmo’s mustache. Rags concealed the rest of his face. The others were so bundled I could not tell who was who. Only Silent rode resolutely tall. He peered straight ahead, disdaining that pitiless wind.

  Elmo nodded as he came through the gate. “We’d started to wonder,” I said. Wonder means worry. The rules demand a show of indifference.

  “Hard travelling.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Black Company twenty-three, Rebel zip. No work for you, Croaker, except Jo-Jo has a little frostbite.”

  “You get Raker?”

  Raker’s dire prophecies, skilled witchcraft, and battlefield cunning had made a fool of the Limper. The Salient had been ready to collapse before the Lady ordered us to take over. The move had sent shock waves throughout the empire. A mercenary captain had been assigned forces and powers usually reserved for one of the Ten!

  Salient winter being what it was, only a shot at Raker himself made the Captain field this patrol.

  Elmo bared his face and grinned. He was not talking. He would just have to tell it again for the Captain.

  I considered Silent. No smile on his long, dreary face. He responded with a slight jerk of his head. So, Another victory that amounted to failure. Raker had escaped again. Maybe he would send us scampering after the Limper, squeaking mice who had grown too bold and challenged the cat.

  Still, chopping twenty-three men out of-the regional Rebel hierarchy counted for something. Not a bad day’s work, in fact. Better than any the Limper turned in.

  Men came for the patrol’s ponies. Others set out mulled wine and warm food in the main hall. I stuck with Elmo and Silent, Their tale would get told soon enough.

  Meystrikt’s main hall is only slightly less draughty than its quarters. I treated Jo-Jo. The others attacked their

  meals. Feast complete, Elmo, Silent, One-Eye, and Knuckles convened around a small table. Cards materialized. One-Eye scowled my way. “Going to stand there with your thumb in your butt, Croaker? We need a mark.”

  One-Eye is at least a hundred years old. The Annals mention the wizened little black man’s volcanic tempers throughout the last century. There is no telling when he joined. Seventy years’ worth of Annals were lost when the Company’s positions were overrun at the Battle of Urban. One-Eye refuses to illuminate the missing years. He says he does not believe in history.

  Elmo dealt. Five cards to each player and a hand to an empty chair. “Croaker!” One-Eye snapped. “You going to squat?”

  “Nope. Sooner or later Elmo is going to talk.” I tapped my pen against my teeth.

  One-Eye was in rare form. Smoke poured out of his ears. A screaming bat popped out of his mourn.

  “He seems annoyed,” I observed. The others grinned. Baiting One-Eye is a favorite pastime.

  One-Eye hates field work. And hates missing out even more. Elmo’s grins and Silent’s benevolent glances convinced him he had missed something good.

  Elmo redistributed his cards, peered at them from inches away. Silent’s eyes glittered. No doubt about it. They had a special surprise.

  Raven took the seat they had offered me. No one objected. Even One-Eye never objects to anything Raven decides to do.

  Raven. Colder than our weather since Oar, A dead soul now, maybe. He can make a man shudder with a glance. He exudes a stench of the grave. And yet, Darling loves him. Pale, frail, ethereal, she kept one hand on his shoulder while he ordered his cards. She smiled for him.

  Raven is an asset in any game including One-Eye. One-Eye cheats. But never when Raven is playing.

  “She stands in the Tower, gazing northward. Her delicate hands are clasped before Her. A breeze steals softly through Her window. It stirs the midnight silk of Her hair. Tear diamonds sparkle on the gentle curve of Her cheek.”

  “Hoo-wee!”

  “Oh, wow!”

  “Author! Author!”

  “May a sow litter in your bedroll, Willie.” Those characters got a howl out of my fantasies about the Lady. The sketches are a game I play with myself. Hell, for all they know, my inventions might be on the mark. Only the Ten Who Were Taken ever see the Lady. Who knows if she is ugly, beautiful, or what?

  “Tear diamonds sparkling, eh?” One-Eye said. “I like that. Figure she’s pining for you, Croaker?”

  “Knock it off. I don’t make fun of your games.”

  The Lieutenant entered, seated himself, regarded us with a black scowl. Lately his mission in life has been to disapprove.

  His advent meant the Captain was on his way. Elmo folded his hand, composed himself.

  The place fell silent. Men appeared as if by magic. “Bar the damned door!” One-Eye muttered. “They keep stumbling in like this, I’ll freeze my ass off. Play the hand out, Elmo.”

  The Captain came in, took his usual seat. “Let’s hear it, Sergeant.”

  The Captain is not one of our more colorful characters. Too quiet. Too serious.

  Elmo laid his cards down, tapped their edges into alignment, ordered his thoughts. He can become obsessed with brevity and precision.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Silent spotted a picket line south of the farm, Captain. We circled north. Attacked after sunset. They tried to scatter. Silent distracted Raker while we handled the others. Thirty men. We got twenty-three. We yelled a lot about not letting our spy get hurt. We missed Raker.”

  Sneaky makes this outfit work. We want the Rebel to believe his ranks are shot with informers. That hamstrings his communications and decision-making, and makes life less chancy for Silent, One-Eye, and Goblin.

  The planted rumor. The small frame. The touch of bribery or blackmail. Those are the best weapons. We opt battle only when we have our opponents mousetrapped. At least ideally.

  “You returned directly to the fortress?”

  “Yes sir. After burning the farmhouse and outbuildings. Raker concealed his tra
il well.”

  The Captain considered the smoke-darkened beams overhead. Only One-Eye’s snapping of his cards broke the silence. The Captain dropped his gaze. “Then, pray, why are you and Silent grinning like a pair of prize fools?”

  One-Eye muttered, “Proud they came home empty-handed.”

  Elmo grinned some more. “But we didn’t.”

  Silent dug inside his filthy shirt, produced the small leather bag that always hangs on a thong around his neck. His trick bag. It is filled with noxious oddiments like putrefied bat’s ears or elixir of nightmare. This time he produced a folded piece of paper. He cast dramatic glances at One-Eye and Goblin, opened the packet fold by fold. Even the Captain left his seat, crowded the table.

  “Behold!” said Elmo.

  “Tain’t nothing but hair.” Heads shook. Throats grumbled. Somebody questioned Elmo’s grasp on reality.

  But One-Eye and Goblin had three big coweyes between them. One-Eye chirruped inarticulately. Goblin squeaked a few times, but, then, Goblin always squeaks. “Is it really his?” he managed at last. “Really his?”

  Elmo and Silent radiated the smugness of eminently successful conquistadors. “Absodamnlutely,” Elmo said. “Right off the top of his bean. We had that old man by the balls and he knew it. He was heeling and toeing it out of mere so fast he smacked his noggin on a doorframe. Saw it myself, and so did Silent. Left these on the beam. Whoo, that gaffer can step.”

  And Goblin, an octave above his usual rusty hinge squall, dancing in his excitement, said, “Gents, we’ve got him. He’s as good as hanging on a meathook right now. The big one.” He meowed at One-Eye. “What do you think of mat, you sorry little spook?”

  A herd of miniscule lightning bugs poured out of One-Eye’s nostrils. Good soldiers all, they fell into formation, spelling out the words Goblin is a Poof. Their little wings hummed the words for the benefit of the illiterate.

  There is no truth to that canard. Goblin is thoroughly heterosexual. One-Eye was trying to start something.

  Goblin made a gesture. A great shadow-figure, like Soulcatcher but tall enough to brush the ceiling beams, bent and skewered One-Eye with an accusing finger. A sourceless voice whispered, “It was you that corrupted the lad, sodder.”