Chronicles of the Black Company

by Glen Cook

  I refused to be unsettled by the sneaky stone. Much.

  What are they? Where did they come from? Why are they different from normal stones? For that matter, why is the Plain ridiculously different? Why so bellicose? We are here on sufferance only, allied against a greater enemy. Shatter the Lady and see how our friendship prospers.

  “How soon?”

  “When they are ready.”

  “Brilliant, old stone. Positively illuminating.”

  My sarcasm did not go unnoticed, just unremarked. The menhirs have their own flare for sarcasm and the sharp-edged tongue.

  “Five armies,” said the voice. “They will not wait long.”

  I indicated the sky. “The Taken cruise at will. Unchallenged.”

  “They have not challenged.” True. But a weak excuse. Allies should be allies. More, windwhales and mantas usually consider appearance on the Plain sufficient challenge. It occurred to me the Taken might have bought them off.

  “Not so.” The menhir had moved. Its shadow now fell across my toes. I finally looked. This one was just ten feet tall. A real runt.

  It had guessed my thought. Damn.

  It continued telling me what I already knew. “It is not possible to deal from a position of strength always. Take care. There has been a call to the Peoples to reassess your acceptance on the Plain.”

  So. This overtalkative hunk was an emissary. The natives were scared. Some thought they could save themselves trouble by booting us out.

  “Yes.”

  “The Peoples” doesn’t properly describe the parliament of species that makes decisions here, but I know no better title.

  If the menhirs are to be believed—and they lie only by omission or indirection—over forty intelligent species inhabit the Plain of Fear. Those I know include menhirs, walking trees, windwhales and mantas, a handful of humans (both primitives and hermits), two kinds of lizard, a bird like a buzzard, a giant white bat, and an extremely scarce critter that looks like a camel-centaur put together backward. I mean, the humanoid half is behind. The creature runs toward what most would take as its fanny.

  No doubt I have encountered others without recognizing them.

  Goblin says there is a tiny rock monkey that lives in the hearts of the great coral reefs. He claims it looks like a miniature One-Eye. But Goblin is not to be trusted where One-Eye is concerned.

  “I am charged with delivering a warning,” the menhir said. “There are strangers on the Plain.”

  I asked questions. When it did not answer I turned irritably. It was gone. “Damned stone. …”

  Tracker and his mutt stood in the mouth of the Hole, watching the Taken,

  Darling interviewed Tracker thoroughly, I’m told. I missed that. She was satisfied.

  I had an argument with Elmo. Elmo liked Tracker. “Reminds me of Raven,” he said. “We could use a few hundred Ravens.”

  “ Reminds me of Raven, too. And that’s what I don’t like.” But what good arguing? We cannot always like everyone. Darling thinks he is all right. Elmo thinks so. The Lieutenant accepts him. Why should I be different? Hell, if he is from the same mold as Raven, the Lady is in trouble.

  He will be tested soon enough. Darling has something in mind. Something preemptive, I suspect. Possibly toward Rust.

  Rust. Where the Limper had raised his Stella.

  The Limper. Back from the dead. I did everything but burn the body. Should have done that, I guess. Bloody hell.

  The scary part is wondering if he is the only one. Did others survive apparent certain death? Are they hidden away now, waiting to astound the world?

  A shadow fell across my feet. I returned to the living. Tracker stood beside me. “You look distressed,” he said. He did show one every courtesy, I must admit.

  I looked toward those patroling reminders of the struggle. I said, “I am a soldier, grown old and tired and confused. I have been fighting since before you were born. And I have yet to see anything gained.”

  He smiled a thin, almost secretive smile. It made me uncomfortable. Everything he did made me uncomfortable. Even his damned dog made me uncomfortable, and it did nothing but sleep. Much as it loafed, how had it managed the journey from Oar? Too much like work. I swear, that dog won’t even get in a hurry to eat.

  “Be of good faith, Croaker,” Tracker said. “She will fall.” He spoke with absolute conviction. “She hasn’t the strength to tame the world.”

  There was that scariness again. True or not, the way he expressed the sentiment was disturbing.

  “We’ll bring them all down.” He indicated the Taken, “They aren’t real, like those of old.”

  Toadkiller Dog sneezed on Tracker’s boot. He looked down. I thought he would kick the mutt. But instead he bent to scratch the dog’s ear.

  “Toadkiller Dog. What kind of name is that?”

  “Oh, it’s an old joke. From when we were both a lot younger. He took a shine to it. Insists on it now.”

  Tracker seemed only half there. His eyes were vacant, his gaze far away, though he continued to watch the Taken. Weird.

  At least he admitted to having been young. There was a hint of human vulnerability in that. It is the apparent invulnerability of characters like Tracker and Raven that rattles me.

  The Plain of Fear

  Yo! Croaker!” The Lieutenant had come outside.

  “What?”

  “Let Tracker cover you.” I had only minutes left in my watch. “Darling wants you.”

  I glanced at Tracker. He shrugged. “Go ahead.” He assumed a stance facing westward. I swear, it was like he turned the vigilance on. As though on the instant he became the ultimate sentinel.

  Even Toadkiller Dog opened an eye and went to watching.

  I brushed the dog’s scalp with my fingers as I left, what I thought a friendly gesture. He growled. “Be like that,” I said, and joined the Lieutenant.

  He seemed disturbed. Generally, he is a cold customer, “What is it?”

  “She’s got one of her wild hairs.”

  Oh, boy. “What?”

  “Rust.”

  “Oh yeah! Brilliant! Get it all over with fast! I thought that was just talk. I trust you tried to argue her out of it?”

  You would think a man would grow accustomed to stench after having lived with it for years. But as we descended into the Hole my nose wrinkled and tightened. You just can’t keep a bunch of people stuffed in a pit without ventilation. We have precious little.

  “I tried. She says, ‘Load the wagon. Let me worry about the mule being blind.’”

  “She’s right most of the time.”

  “She’s a damned military genius. But that don’t mean she can pull off any cockamamie scheme she dreams up. Some dreams are nightmares. Hell, Croaker, The Limper is out there.”

  Which is where we started when we reached the conference room. Silent and I bore the brunt because we are Darling’s favorites. Seldom do I see such unanimity among my brethren. Even Goblin and One-Eye spoke with a single voice, and those two will fight over whether it is night or day with the sun at high noon.

  Darling prowled like a caged beast. She had doubts. They nagged her.

  “Two Taken in Rust,” I argued. “That’s what Corder said. One of them our oldest and nastiest enemy.”

  “Break them and we will shatter their entire plan of campaign,” she countered.

  “Break them? Girl, you’re talking about the Limper. I proved he is invincible before.”

  “No. You proved that he will survive unless you are thorough. You might have burned him.”

  Yeah. Or cut him into pieces and fed him to the fish, or given him a swim in a vat of acid or a dust bath in quicklime. But those things take time. We had the Lady herself coming down on us. We barely got away as it was.

  “Assuming we can get there undetected—which I do not believe for a moment—and manage total surprise, how long before all the Taken get on us?” I signed vigorously, more angry than frightened. I never refuse Darli
ng, ever. But this time I was ready.

  Her eyes flashed. For the first time ever I saw her battle her temper. She signed, “If you will not accept orders you should not be here. I am not the Lady. I do not sacrifice pawns for small gain. I agree, there is great risk in this operation. But far less than you argue. With potential impact far greater than you suppose.”

  “Convince me.”

  “That I cannot do. If you are captured, you must not know.”

  I was primed. “You just telling me that is enough for the Taken to get on a trail.” Maybe I was more scared than I could admit. Or maybe it was just an all-time case of the contraries.

  “No,” she signed. There was something more, but she held it back.

  Silent dropped a hand on my shoulder. He had given up. The Lieutenant joined him. “You’re overstepping yourself, Croaker,”

  Darling repeated, “If you will not accept orders, Croaker, leave.”

  She meant it. Really! I stood with mouth open, stunned.

  “All right!” I stamped out. I went to my quarters, shuffled those obstinate old papers and, of course, found not a damned thing new.

  They left me alone for a while. Then Elmo came. He did not announce himself. I just glanced up and found him leaning against the door frame. By then I was half ashamed of my performance. “Yeah?”

  “Mail call,” he said, and tossed me another of those oilskin packets.

  I snapped it out of the air. He departed without explaining its appearance. I placed it on my worktable, wondered. Who? I knew no one in Oar.

  Was it some sort of trick?

  The Lady is patient and clever. I would not put past her some grand maneuver using me.

  I guess I must have thought about it an hour before, reluctantly, I opened the packet.

  The Story of Bomanz

  Croaker:

  Bomanz and Tokar stood in one corner of the shop. “What do you think?” Bomanz asked. “Bring a good price?”

  Tokar stared at the piece de resistance of Bomanz’s new TelleKurre collection, a skeleton in perfectly restored armor. “It’s marvelous, Bo. How did you do it?”

  “Wired the joints together. See the forehead jewel? I’m not up on Domination heraldry, but wouldn’t a ruby mean somebody important?”

  “A king. That would be the skull of King Broke.”

  “His bones, too. And armor.”

  “You’re rich, Bo. I’ll just take a commission on this one. A wedding present to the family. You took me serious when I said come up with something good.”

  “The Monitor confiscated the best. We had Shapeshifter’s armor.”

  Tokar had brought helpers this trip, a pair of hulking gorilla teamsters. They were carrying antiques to wagons outside. Their back-and-forth made Bomanz nervous.

  “Really? Damn! I’d give my left arm for that.”

  Bomanz spread his hands apologetically. “What could I do? Besand keeps me on a short leash. Anyway, you know my policy. I’m stretching it to deal with a future daughter-in-law’s brother.”

  “How’s that?”

  Stuck my foot in it now, Bomanz thought. He ploughed ahead. “Besand has heard you’re a Resurrectionist. Stance and I are getting a hard time.”

  “Now that’s sick. I’m sorry, Bo. Resurrectionist! I shot my mouth off once, years ago, and said even the Dominator would be better for Oar than our clown Mayor. One stupid remark! They never let you forget. It’s not enough that they hounded my father into an early grave. Now they have to torment me and my friends.”

  Bomanz had no idea what Tokar was talking about. He would have to ask Stance. But it reassured him; which was all he really wanted.

  “Tokar, keep the profits from this lot. For Stance and Glory. As my wedding present. Have they set a date?”

  “Nothing definite. After his sabbatical and thesis. Come winter, I guess. Thinking about coming down?”

  “Thinking about moving back to Oar. I don’t have enough fight left to break in a new Monitor.”

  Tokar chuckled. “Probably won’t be much call for Domination artifacts after this summer anyway. I’ll see if I can find you a place. You do work like the king here, you won’t have trouble making a living.”

  “You really like it? I was thinking about doing his horse, too.” Bomanz felt a surge of pride in his craftsmanship.

  “Horse? Really? They buried his horse with him?”

  “Armor and all. I don’t know who put the TelleKurre in the ground, but they didn’t loot. We’ve got a whole box of coins and jewelry and badges.”

  “Domination coinage? That’s hotter than hot. Most of it was melted down. A Domination coin in good shape can bring fifty times its metal value.”

  “Leave King Whosis here. I’ll put his horse together for him. Pick him up next trip.”

  “I won’t be long, either. I’ll unload and zip right back. Where’s Stance, anyway? I wanted to say hello.” Tokar waved one of those leather wallets.

  “Glory?”

  “Glory. She ought to write romances. Going to break me, buying paper.”

  “He’s out to the dig. Let’s go. Jasmine! I’m taking Tokar out to the dig.”

  During the walk Bomanz kept glancing over his shoulder. The comet was now so bright it could be seen, barely, by day. “Going to be one hell of a sight when it peaks out,” he predicted.

  “I expect so.” Tokar’s smile made Bomanz nervous. I’m imagining, he told himself.

  Stancil used his back to open the shop door. He dumped a load of weapons. “We’re getting mined out, Pop. Pretty much all common junk last night.” Bomanz twisted a strand of copper wire, wriggled out of the framework supporting the horse skeleton. “Then let Men fu take over. Not much more room here anyway.”

  The shop was almost impassable. Bomanz would not have to dig for years, were that his inclination.

  “Looking good,” Stance said of the horse, tarrying before going for another armful from a borrowed cart. “You’ll have to show me how to get the king on top so I can put them together when I go back.”

  “I may do it myself.”

  “Thought you’d decided to stay.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. When are we going to start that thesis?”

  “I’m working on it. Making notes. Once I get organized I can write it up like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of time.” He went outside again.

  Jasmine brought tea. “I thought I heard Stance.”

  Bomanz jerked his head. “Outside.”

  She looked for a place to set teapot and cups. “You’re going to have to get this mess organized.”

  “I keep telling myself that.”

  Stancil returned. “Enough odds and ends here to make a suit of armor. Long as nobody tries to wear it.”

  “Tea?” his mother asked.

  “Sure. Pop, I came past headquarters. That new Monitor is here.”

  “Already?”

  “You’re going to love him. He brought a coach and three wagons filled with clothing for his mistress. And a platoon of servants.”

  “What? Ha! He’ll die when Besand shows him his quarters.” The Monitor lived in a cell more fit for a monk than for the most powerful man in the province.

  “He deserves it.”

  “You know him?”

  “By reputation. Polite people call him the Jackal. If I’d known it was him … What could I have done? Nothing. He’s lucky his family got him sent here. Somebody would have killed him if he’d stayed around the city.”

  “Not popular, eh?”

  “You’ll find out if you stay. Come back, Pop.”

  “I’ve got a job to do, Stance.”

  “How much longer?”

  “A couple of days. Or forever. You know, I’ve got to get that name.”

  “Pop, we could try now. While things are confused.”

  “No experiments, Stance. I want it cold, I won’t take chances with the Ten.” Stancil wanted to argue but sipped tea instead. He
went out to the cart again. When he returned, he said, “Tokar should be turned around by now. Maybe he’ll bring more than two wagons.”

  Bomanz chuckled. “Maybe he’ll bring more than wagons, you mean? Like maybe a sister?”

  “I was thinking that, yes.”

  “How are you going to get a thesis written?”

  “There’s always a spare moment.”

  Bomanz ran a dust cloth over the jewel in the brow of his dead king’s horse. “Enough for now, Dobbin. Going out to the dig.”

  “Swing by and check the excitement,” Stancil suggested.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Besand came to the dig that afternoon. He caught Bomanz napping. “What is this?” he demanded. “Sleeping on the job?”

  Bomanz sat up. “You know me. Just getting out of the house. I hear the new man showed up.”

  Besand spat. “Don’t mention him.”

  “Bad?”

  “Worse than I expected. Mark me, Bo. Today writes the end of an era. Those fools will rue it.”

  “You decide what you’re going to do?”

  “Go fishing. Bloody go fishing. As far from here as I can get. Take a day to break him in, then head south.”

  “I always wanted to retire to one of the Jewel Cities. I’ve never seen the sea. So you’re headed out right away, eh?”

  “You don’t have to sound so damned cheerful about it. You and your Resurrectionist friends have won, but I’ll go knowing you didn’t beat me on my own ground.”

  “We haven’t fought much lately. That’s no reason to make up for lost time.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. That was uncalled for. Sorry, It’s frustration. I’m helpless, and everything is going under.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “It can. I have my sources, Bo. I’m not some lone crazy. There are knowledgeable men in Oar who fear the same things I do. They say the Resurrectionists are going to try something. You’ll see, too. Unless you get out.”

  “I probably will. Stancil knows this guy. But I can’t go before we finish the dig.”

  Besand gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Bo, I ought to make you clean up before I go. Looks like Hell puked here,”