The Black Company tbc-1

by Glen Charles Cook

  Where the palisade had stood Rebel engineers were assembling wheeled towers from which bowmen could shoot, and wheeled ramps to roll up to the first tier. Carpenters were making ladders. I saw no artillery. I guess they planned to swamp us once they crossed the trenches.

  The Lieutenant knew siegework well. I went to him. “How they going to bring up those ramps and towers?”

  “They’ll fill the ditches.”

  He was right. As soon as they had bridges across the first, and started moving mantlets over, carts and wagons appeared, carrying earth and stone. Teamsters and animals took a beating. Many a corpse went into the fill.

  The pioneers moved up to the second trench, assembled their cranes. The Circle gave them no armed support. Stormbringer sent archers to the lip of the final trench. The Guard laid down heavy fire with the ballistae. The pioneers suffered heavy casualties. The enemy command simply sent more men.

  The Rebel began moving mantlets across the second trench an hour before noon. Wagons and carts crossed the first, carrying fill.

  The pioneers encountered withering fire moving up to bridge the final ditch. The archers on the second tier sped their shafts high. They fell nearly straight down. The trebuchets shifted their aim, blasting mantlets into toothpicks and timbers. But the Rebel kept coming. On Moonbiter’s flank they got a set of supporting beams across.

  Moonbiter attacked, crossing with a picked force. His assault was so ferocious he drove the pioneers back over the second trench. He destroyed their equipment, attacked again. Then the Rebel command brought up a strong heavy infantry column. Moonbiter withdrew, leaving the second trench bridges ruined.

  Inexorably, the Rebel bridged again, moved to the final trench with soldiers to protect his workmen. Stormbringer’s snipers retreated.

  The arrows from the second tier fell like flakes in a heavy winter snow, steadily and evenly. The carnage was spectacular. Rebel troops rolled into the witch’s cauldron in a flood. A river of wounded flowed out. At the last trench the pioneers began keeping to the shelter of their mantlets, praying those would not be shattered by the Guard.

  Thus it stood as the sun settled, casting long shadows across the field of blood. I’d guess the Rebel lost ten thousand men without bringing us to battle.

  Through that day neither the Taken nor the Circle unleashed their powers. The Lady did not venture out of the Tower.

  One less day to await the armies of the east.

  Hostilities ended at sunset. We ate. The Rebel brought another shift to work the trenches. The newcomers went at it with the gusto their predecessors had lost. The strategy was obvious. They would rotate fresh troops in and wear us down.

  The dark was the time of the Taken. Their passivity ended.

  I could see little initially, so cannot for certain say who did what. Shifter, I suspect, changed shape and crossed into enemy territory.

  The stars began to fade behind onrushing storm clouds. Cold air rushed across the earth. The wind rose, howled. Riding it came a horde of things with leathery wings, flying serpents the length of a man’s arm. Their hissing overshadowed the tumult of the storm. Thunder crashed and lightning stalked, jabbing enemy works with its spears. The flashes revealed the ponderous advance of giants from the rock wastes. They hurled boulders like children throw balls. One snatched up a bridge beam and used it as a two-handed club, smashing siege towers and ramps. The look of them, in the treacherous light, was of creatures of stone, basaltic rubble cobbled together in grotesque, gargantuan parody of the human form.

  The earth shivered. Patches of plain glowed a bilious green. Radiant ten foot, blood-streaked orange worms slithered amongst the foe. The heavens opened and dumped rain and burning brimstone.

  The night coughed up more horrors. Killing fogs. Murderous insects. A beginning glow of magma such as we had seen at the Stair of Tear. And all this in just minutes. Once the Circle responded, the terrors faded, though some it took hours to neutralize. They never took the offensive. The Taken were too strong.

  By midnight all was quiet. The Rebel had given up everything but fill work at the far trench. The storm had become a steady rain. It made the Rebel miserable but did him no harm. I wriggled down amongst my companions and fell asleep thinking how nice it was that our part of the world was dry.

  Dawn. First view of the Taken’s handiwork. Death everywhere. Horribly mutilated corpses. The Rebel labored till noon cleaning up. Then he resumed his assault on the trenches.

  The Captain received a message from the Tower. He assembled us. “Word is, we lost Shifter last night.” He gave me a look meant to be significant. “The circumstances were questionable. We’ve been told to stay alert. That means you, One-Eye. And you, Goblin and Silent. You send a yell to the Tower if you see anything suspicious. Understand?” They nodded.

  Shapeshifter gone. That must have taken some doing.

  “The Rebel lose anybody important?” I asked.

  “Whiskers. Roper. Tamarask. But they can be replaced. Shifter can’t.”

  Rumors floated around. The deaths of members of the Circle had been caused by some catlike beast so strong and, quick even the powers of its victims were of no consequence. Several score senior Rebel functionaries had fallen victim as well.

  The men recalled a similar beast from Beryl. There were whispers. Catcher had brought the forvalaka over on the ship. Was he using it against the Rebel?

  I thought not. The attack fit Shifter’s style. Shifter loved sneaking into the enemy camp...

  One-Eye went around wearing a thoughtful look, so self-engrossed he bumped into things. Once he stopped and smashed a fist into a ham hanging near the newly erected cook tents.

  He had it figured out. How Catcher could send the forvalaka into the Bastion to slaughter the Syndic’s entire household, and end up controlling the city through a puppet, through no cost to the Lady’s overextended resources. Catcher and Shifter were thick then, weren’t they?

  He had figured out who killed his brother-too late to extract revenge.

  He went around and beat on that ham several times during the course of the day.

  I joined Raven and Darling later. They were watching the action. I checked Shapeshifter’s force. His standard had been replaced. “Raven. Isn’t that Jalena’s banner?”

  “Yes.” He spat.

  “Shifter wasn’t a bad guy. For one of the Taken.”

  “None of them are. For Taken, As long as you don’t get in their way.” He spat again, eyed the Tower. “What’s going on here, Croaker?”

  “Eh?” He was as civil as he had been since our return from the field.

  “What’s this show all about? Why is she doing it this way?”

  I was not sure what he was asking. “I don’t know. She doesn’t confide in me.”

  He scowled. “No?” As though he did not believe me! Then he shrugged. “Be interesting to find out.”

  “No doubt.” I watched Darling. She was inordinately intrigued by the attack. She asked Raven a stream of questions. They were not simple. You might expect their like from an apprentice general, a prince, someone expected to assume eventual command.

  “Shouldn’t she be somewhere safer?” I asked. “I mean...”

  “Where?” Raven demanded. “Where would she be safer than with me?” His voice was hard, his eyes narrow with suspicion. Startled, I dropped the subject.

  Was he jealous because I had become Darling’s friend? I don’t know. Everything about Raven is strange.

  Stretches of the farther trench had vanished. In places the middle trench had been filled and tamped. The Rebel had moved his surviving towers and ramps up to the extreme limit of our artillery. New towers were a-building. New mantlets were everywhere. Men huddled behind every one.

  Braving merciless fire, Rebel pioneers bridged the final trench. Counterattacks stalled them again and again, yet they kept coming. They completed their eighth bridge about the third hour after noon.

  Vast infantry formations moved forward.
They swarmed across the bridges, into the teeth of the arrowstorm. They hit our first line randomly, pelting in like sleet, dying against a wall of spears and shields and swords. Bodies piled up. Our bowmen threatened to fill the ditches around the bridges. And still they came.

  I recognized a few banners seen at Roses and Lords. The elite units were coming up.

  They crossed the bridges and formed up, advanced in fair order, exerted heavy pressure on our center. Behind them a second line formed, stronger, deeper, and broader. When it was solid its officers moved it forward a few yards, had their men crouch behind their shields.

  Pioneers moved mantlets across, joined them in a sort of palisade. Our heaviest artillery concentrated on these. Behind the ditch, hordes ran fill to selected points.

  Though the men on the bottom level were our least reliable-I suspect the lottery was rigged-they repelled the Rebel elite. Success gave them only a brief respite. The next mass attacked.

  Our line creaked. It might have broken had the men had anywhere to run. They had the habit of fleeing. But here they were trapped, with no chance of getting up the retaining wall.

  That wave receded. On his end Moonbiter counterattacked and routed the enemy before him. He destroyed most of their mantlets and briefly threatened their bridges. I was impressed by his aggressiveness.

  It was late. The Lady had not come forth. I suppose she had not doubted we would hold. The enemy launched a last assault, a human wave attack, that came within a whisper of swamping our men. In places the Rebel reached the retaining wall and tried to scale or dismantle it. But our men did not collapse. The incessant rain of arrows broke the Rebel determination.

  They withdrew. Fresh units filled in behind the mantlets. A temporary peace settled in. The field belonged to their pioneers.

  “Six days,” I said to no one in particular. “I don’t think we can hang on.”

  The first line shouldn’t survive tomorrow. The horde would storm the second level. Our archers were deadly as archers, but I doubted they would do well hand-to-hand. Moreover, once forced into close combat they could no longer punish the enemy coming up. Then the Rebel towers would do them as they had been done.

  We had cut a narrow trench near the rear of the pyramid top. It served as our latrine. The Captain caught me at my most inelegant. “They need you down on the bottom level, Croaker. Take One-Eye and your crew.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a physician, aren’t you?”

  “Oh,” Silly of me. Should have known I could not remain an observer.

  The rest of the Company went down too, to perform other tasks.

  Getting down was no trouble, though traffic was heavy on the temporary ramps. Men from the upper level and pyramid top hauled munitions down to the bowmen (the Lady must have squirreled arrows for a generation), brought corpses and casualties up.

  “Be a good time to jump us,” I told One-Eye. “Just scamper up the ramps.”

  “They’re too busy doing the same things we are.” We passed within ten feet of Soulcatcher. I lifted a hand in tentative greeting. He did the same after a pause. I got the feeling he was startled.

  Down we went, and down again, into Stormbringer’s territory.

  It was hell down there. Every battlefield is, after, but never had I seen anything like this. Men were down everywhere. Many were Rebels our men hadn’t the energy to finish. Even the troops from up top just booted them aside so they could collect our people. Forty feet away, ignored, Rebel soldiers were gathering their own people and ignoring ours. “It’s like something out of the old Annals,” I told One-Eye. “Maybe the battle at Torn.”

  “Torn wasn’t this bloody.”

  “Uhm.” He was there. He went back a long way.

  I found an officer and asked where we should set up shop. He suggested we’d be the most use to Bonegnasher.

  Going, we passed uncomfortably near Stormbringer. One-Eye’s amulet burned my wrist.

  “Friend of yours?” One-Eye asked sarcastically.

  “What?”

  “Such a look you got from the old spook.”

  I shuddered. Lime thread. Taken on the wind. That could have been Stormbringer.

  Bonegnasher was a big one, bigger than Shifter, eight feet tall and six hundred pounds of iron mean muscle. He was so strong it was grotesque. He had a mouth like a crocodile, and supposedly had eaten his enemies in the old days. A few of the old stories also call him Bonecrusher, because of his strength.

  While I stared, one of his lieutenants told us to go out to the far right flank, where fighting had been so light no medical team had yet been assigned.

  We located the appropriate battalion commander. “Set up right here,” he told us. “I’ll have the men brought to you.” He looked sour.

  One of his staff volunteered, “He was a company commander this morning. It was hard on officers today.” When you have heavy casualties among your officers they are leading from the front to keep the men from breaking.

  One-Eye and I started patching. “Thought you had it easy over here.”

  “Easy is relative.” He looked at us hard, talking about easy when we had spent the day loafing on the pyramid.

  Torchlight medicine is a bunch of fun. Between us we treated several hundred men. Whenever I paused to work the pain and stiffness out of my hands and shoulders, I glanced at the sky, perplexed. I had expected the Taken to go crazy again tonight.

  Bonegnasher ambled into our makeshift surgery, naked to the waist, maskless, looking like an oversized wrestler. He said nothing. We tried to ignore him. His piggy little eyes remained tight as he watched.

  One-Eye and I were working on the same man, from opposite ends. He stopped suddenly, head coming up like that of a startled horse. His eye got big. He looked around wildly. “What is it?” I asked.

  “I don’t... Odd. It’s gone. For a second... Never mind.”

  I kept an eye on him. He was frightened. More frightened than the presence of the Taken justified. As if some personal danger threatened him. I glanced at Bonegnasher. He was watching One-Eye too.

  One-Eye did it again later, while we were working separate patients. I looked up. Beyond him, down at waist level, I caught the glow of eyes. A chill scrambled down my spine.

  One-Eye watched the darkness, nervousness increasing. When he finished with his patient he cleansed his hands and drifted toward Bonegnasher.

  An animal screamed. A dark shape hurtled into the circle of light, toward me. “Forvalaka!” I gasped, and threw myself aside. The beast passed over me, one claw ripping my jerkin.

  Bonegnasher reached the man-leopard’s point of impact the moment it did so. One-Eye unleashed a spell that blinded me, the forvalaka, and everyone watching. I heard the beast roar. Anger became agony. My vision returned. Bonegnasher had the monster in a deadly hug, right arm crushing its windpipe, left its ribs. It clawed air futilely. It was supposed to have the strength of a dozen natural leopards. In Bonegnasher’s arms it was helpless. The Taken laughed, took a bite from its left shoulder.

  One-Eye staggered over to me. “Should have had that guy with us in Beryl,” I said. My voice quavered.

  One-Eye was so frightened he was gagging. He did not laugh. I did not have much humor in me, either, frankly. Just a reflex sarcasm. Gallows humor.

  Trumpets filled the night with their cries. Men ran to their stations. The rattle of arms overrode the strangling of the forvalaka.

  One-Eye grabbed my arm. “Got to get out of here,” he said. “Come on.”

  I was mesmerized by the struggle. The leopard was trying to change. It looked vaguely womanish.

  “Come on!” One-Eye swore sulphurously. “That thing was after you, you know. Sent. Let’s move before it gets away.”

  It had no end of energy, despite Bonegnasher’s immense strength and savagery. The Taken had destroyed its left shoulder with his teeth.

  One-Eye was right. Across the way the Rebel was getting excited. Fighting could break out. Time t
o make tracks, for both reasons. I grabbed my kit and scooted.

  We passed both Stormbringer and Soulcatcher getting back. I gave each a mocking salute, driven by I don’t know what tomfool bravado. One, I was sure, initiated the attack. Neither responded.

  Reaction did not set in till I was safe atop the pyramid, with the Company, with nothing to do but think about what could have happened. Then I started shaking so bad One-Eye gave me one of my own knockout draughts.

  Something visited my dreams. Old friend now. Golden glow and beautiful face. As before, “My Faithful need not fear.”

  There was a hint of light in the east when the drug wore off. I wakened less frightened, but hardly confident. Three times they had tried. Anyone that set on killing me would find a way. No matter what the Lady said.

  One-Eye appeared almost immediately. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  “You missed a hell of a show.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “The Circle and the Taken went at it after your lights went out. Only stopped a little while ago. A little hairy around the edges this time. Bonegnasher and Stormbringer got skragged. Looks like they did it to each other. Come here. I want to show you something.”

  Grumbling, I followed him. “How bad did the Rebel get hurt?”

  “You hear different stories. But plenty. At least four of them bought it.” He halted at the front edge of the pyramid top, gestured dramatically.

  “What?”

  “You blind? I got only one eye and I can see better than you?”

  “Give me a hint.”

  “Look for a crucifixion.”

  “Oh.” That told, I had no trouble finding the cross planted near Stormbringer’s command post, “Okay. So what?”

  “That’s your friend. The forvalaka.”

  “Mine?”

  “Ours?” A delightfully wicked expression crossed his face. “End of a long story, Croaker. And a satisfying one. Either way it was, whoever killed Tom-Tom, I lived to see them reach an evil end.”

  “Yeah.” To our left Raven and Darling watched the Rebel move up. Their fingers blurred. They were too far for me to catch much. It was like overhearing a conversation in a language with which you have only a formal acquaintance. Goobledegook. “What’s eating Raven lately?”