by Glen Cook
Narayan had no suggestions.
I said, “We need an electrifying rumor to hand your brotherhood, to whisper everywhere.”
“Word should have reached all the jamadars now, Mistress.”
“Wonderful, Narayan. So every band captain has heard that your Strangler messiah is come. Assume they all believe because the news came from you, famous and honored master Strangler.” My tone was getting sarcastic. “How many men will that bring to a standard that needs thousands? I’d rather have your friends stay where they are, as our hands and knives in hiding. Are there other legends I can exploit? Are there other fears?”
“The Shadowmasters are scary enough, at least in the country, where they remember last year.”
True. We were getting volunteers from across the river already, men who’d had no chance to enlist before we marched on Dejagore. The men we had taken down had come from the city or were slaves we had liberated after overrunning Ghoja. The country folk, intimate with the terror of the Shadowmasters, should prove a rich source of manpower. And would be hardier than city folk. But I might have to gather my harvest quickly.
Around here power emanated from the palace and the temples of Trogo Taglios. A few frightened men there could issue bulls and dictates forbidding the faithful from joining me.
“Do you have friends in the city?”
“Not many. None that I know personally. Sindhu may know some.”
“Ram came from the city.”
“Yes. And a few others. What’re you thinking?”
“It might be wise to get established there now, before the Radisha, and especially that whimpering runt Smoke, can swing opinion against us.” I said we and us always but meant I and me. Narayan was not fooled much.
“We can’t leave Ghoja. Thousands more men will come here. We have to collect them.”
I smiled. “Suppose we split what we have? You take half, stay here, do the gathering, and I take half to the city?”
He reacted the way I expected. Almost panicky. He didn’t want me out of his sight.
“Or I could leave Blade. Blade is a man of respect, with a strong reputation down here.”
“Excellent idea, Mistress.”
I wondered who was manipulating whom. “Do you suppose Sindhu is a man of enough respect to leave with him?”
“More than enough, Mistress.”
“Good. Blade will have to know something about him. Something about your brotherhood.”
“Mistress?”
“If you’re going to use a tool you should know its capabilities. Only a priest demands we take things on faith.”
“Priests and functionaries,” Narayan corrected. “You’re right. Blade will take nothing on faith.”
He was the last man alive who would. That might come between us someday.
“Are any of your brotherhood cynical enough to be hiding inside other priesthoods?”
“Mistress?” He sounded hurt.
“I have few sources of information. If we had friends within the priesthoods...”
“I don’t know about Taglios, Mistress. It seems unlikely.”
I did miss the old days, when I’d had the unbridled use of my powers, when I could summon a hundred demons to spy for me, when I could recall the memories of a mouse that had been in the wall of a room where my enemies had congregated.
I’d told Narayan that I’d built an empire from beginnings as humble as ours. That was true, but I’d had more weapons. This time I often felt disarmed.
The weapons were coming back, but far too slowly.
“Send Blade to me.”
I took Blade for a walk up the river, east of the fortress. He was content to wait on me. He spoke only once, cryptically, as we approached a bankside tree where a fishing pole leaned. “Looks like Swan never got back.”
I had him explain. It didn’t mean much. I looked at the fortress. Swan and Mather were in there, nominal commanders of all Taglian forces below the river. I wondered how seriously they took that. They hadn’t been out much. I wondered if Blade was in touch. He’d hardly had time. He’d been working hours longer than mine, teaching himself as he taught his men. I wondered why he made the effort. I sensed a deep reservoir of irrational hatred inside him.
I suspected he was a man who wanted to change the world.
Such men are easy to manipulate, easier than the Swans, who mostly just want to be left alone.
“I’m thinking of promoting you,” I told him.
He responded sardonically. “To what? Unless you’re promoting yourself, too.”
“Of course. You become legate of the Ghoja legion. I become general of the army.”
“You’re going north.”
He didn’t waste words and didn’t need many to extract a lot of information. “I should be in Taglios now. To guard my interests.”
“It’s a bad spot. In the crocodile’s jaws.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You need to be here to gather soldiers, to gain power. You need to be there to control the priests who can keep recruits away.”
“Yes.”
“You need trustworthy lieutenants. But you’re alone.”
“Am I?”
“Maybe not. Maybe I misinterpret the interest of Narayan and Sindhu.”
“Probably not. Their goals aren’t mine. What do you know about them?”
“Nothing. They aren’t what they pretend.”
I thought about that, decided he meant they weren’t what they pretended to be to the world. “Have you heard of the Deceivers, Blade? Sometimes called the Stranglers?”
“Death cult. Legendary, probably. The Radisha mentioned them and their goddess. The wizard is terrified of them. The soldiers say they are extinct. That isn’t true, is it?”
“No. A few still exist. For their own reasons they’re backing me. I won’t bore you with their dogma. It’s repulsive and I’m not sure it was related to me truthfully.”
He grunted. I wondered what went on inside his head. He hid himself well.
I’d met others like him. I will be stunned the day I meet someone entirely new.
“Go north without fear. I’ll manage Ghoja.”
I believed him.
I turned back. We walked toward camp. I tried to ignore the stench from across the river. “What do you want, Blade? Why are you doing this?”
He shrugged, an uncharacteristic action. “There are many evils in the world. I guess I’ve chosen one for my personal crusade.”
“Why such a hatred for priests?”
He didn’t shrug. He didn’t give me a straight answer, either. “If each man picks an evil and attacks it relentlessly, how long can evil persist?”
That was an easy one. Forever. More evil gets done in the name of righteousness than any other way. Few villains think they are villains. But I left him his illusion. If he had one. I doubted he did. No more than a sword’s blade does.
At first I’d thought him moved as Swan so obviously was when he looked at me. But he hadn’t so much as hinted that he considered me anything but a fellow soldier.
He confused me.
He asked, “Will you talk to Willow and Cordy? Or shall I?”
“What do you think?”
“Depends. What you want to discuss? How? You wiggle some, you can lead Swan anywhere.”
“Not interested.”
“I’ll talk to them, then. You go ahead. Do what you have to do.”
Sunrise next morning I was on the road north with two incompetent and incomplete battalions, Narayan and Ram, and all the trophies I had claimed from the Shadowmasters’ horsemen.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Radisha waited impatiently while Smoke bustled around making sure his spells were proof against eavesdroppers. The Prahbrindrah Drah lounged in a chair, looking indolent and unconcerned. But he spoke first when the wizard signalled satisfaction with his precautions. “More bad news, Sis?”
“Bad? I don’t know. Not pleasant. Dejago
re was a disaster. Though experts tell me it hurt the Shadowmasters so badly they can’t bother us this year. The woman you lust after did survive, though.”
The Prahbrindrah grinned. “Is that the good news or the bad?”
“Subject to interpretation. For once, though, I think Smoke might be right.”
“Ah?”
“She insists the defeat neither destroyed the Black Company nor terminated our contract. She gave me a requisition for more men, equipment, and materials.”
“She’s serious?”
“Deadly. She reminded me of the Company’s history and what becomes of those who renege on contracts.”
The Prahbrindrah chuckled. “Bold wench. All by herself?”
Smoke squeaked something.
The Radisha said, “She’s already recruited a force two thousand strong. She’s training them. She’s dangerous, dear. You’d better take her seriously.”
Smoke squeaked again, apparently unable to articulate what he wanted to say.
“Yes. She killed Jahamaraj Jah. Jah tried giving her some trouble. Poof! She made him disappear.”
The prince took a deep breath, blew it out between puffed cheeks. “Can’t fault her taste. But that’s no way to make friends with priests.”
Smoke gobbled again.
The Radisha said, “She doesn’t intend to try. She got Blade to defect. He’s her number two man, now. You know his attitude. Dammit, Smoke! One thing at a time.”
“Swan and Mather?”
“They stuck. I think. But Swan is taken with her, too. I really don’t know what you see in her.”
The Prahbrindrah chuckled. “She’s exotic. And gorgeous. Where are they now?”
“I left them in charge. Supposedly. It’s meaningless. She considers herself the Captain and free to do whatever she pleases. With those two there I’ll have eyes on the scene. They can keep us informed. All right, Smoke. All right.”
“What’s he lathered about?”
“He thinks she’s made an alliance with the Stranglers.”
“The Stranglers?”
“Kina worshippers. Like Smoke’s been whining all along.”
“Oh.”
“First time she visited me she brought two of them with her. Or men who appeared to be Stranglers.”
Smoke managed a clear statement. “She carried a strangling cloth herself. I believe she slew Jah personally. I believe she disposed of his corpse in a Deceivers’ rite.”
“Let me think.” The prince steepled his fingers before his lips. Finally, he asked, “Were they men she’d recruited? Or did she make an alliance with the whole cult?”
Smoke gobbled. The Radisha contradicted him. “I don’t know. Who knows how that cult works?”
“It’s not monolithic.”
Smoke said, “She carried a rumel herself. She posed as Kina during the fight with the Shadowmasters’ cavalry.”
The Radisha had to explain that.
The prince observed, “So we assume the worst? No matter how unlikely?”
“Even if she has access to only a few Stranglers, dear, she’s acquired an unholy power. They have no fear of death. If they’re told to kill, they’ll kill. Disregarding any cost to themselves. And we have no way of knowing who might be one of them.”
“The Year of the Skulls,” Smoke piped. “It’s coming.”
“Let’s don’t get carried away. You talked to her, Sis. What does she want?”
“To continue the war. To fulfill the Black Company’s commission, then see us meet our end of the agreement.”
“Then we’re in no immediate danger. Why not let her have her head?”
“Kill her now,” Smoke said. “Before she grows any stronger. Destroy her! Or she will destroy Taglios.”
“He seems to be overreacting. Don’t you think, Sis?”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
“But...”
“You didn’t talk to her, her with all the confidence of a tidal wave. She’s turned damned scary.”
“And the Shadowmasters? Who’ll handle them?”
“We have a year.”
“You think we could build an army?”
“I don’t know. I think we made a lethal mistake dealing with the Black Company the way we did. Quiet, Smoke. We wove webs of deception. That will come back on us because we’re in too deep to retreat. Swan, Blade, and Mather were convinced we were treacherous in our promises. I’m sure Blade shared his opinions with the woman.”
“We’ll step carefully, then.” The Prahbrindrah reflected. “But right now I don’t see the threat. If she wants to get the Shadowmasters, I say let her go after them.”
Smoke had a fit. He ranted. He cursed. He issued dire prophecies. Every sentence included the words, “The Year of the Skulls.”
His histrionics were so craven they drove the Radisha toward her brother’s position.
Brother and sister left him to his humors. As they moved toward their part of the palace, the Prahbrindrah asked, “What’s gotten into him? He’s lost his nerve completely.”
“He never had much.”
“No. But he’s gone from a mouse to a jellyfish. First it was fear of getting found out by the Shadowmasters. Now it’s the Stranglers.”
“They scare me.”
The prince snorted. “We have more power than you suspect, Sis. We have the power to manipulate three priesthoods.”
The Radisha sneered. She knew what that was worth. So did Jahamaraj Jah, now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eight men sat around the fire in the room without a roof. That room was on the top floor of a four-storey tenement in Taglios’ worst slum. The landlord would have suffered apoplexy had he seen what they had done.
They had been there only a few days. They were wrinkled little brown men unlike any Taglian native. But Taglios lay beside a great river. Strangers came and went. Unusual people seldom drew a second glance.
They had opened the room to the elements and now some regretted it.
A summer shower had come down the river. It was not a heavy rain but the clouds had stalled over the city. They shed a steady drizzle. Taglios’ people were pleased. Rain cleared the air and carried away the trash in the streets. Tomorrow, though, the air would be muggy and everyone would complain.
Seven of the eight brown men did nothing but stare into the flames. The eighth occasionally added a bit
of fuel or a pinch of something that sent sparks flying and filled the air with aromatic smoke. They were patient. They did this for two hours each night.
Suddenly, shadows rippled in over the tops of the walls, danced behind and among the men. They did not move, did nothing to admit they sensed the new presence. The one added another pinch of aromatic, then rested his hands in his lap. Shadows gathered around him. Shadows whispered. He replied, “I understand.” The language he spoke was not Taglian. It was spoken nowhere within six hundred miles of Taglios.
The shadows went away.
The men did not move till the fire died. The rain became a blessing then. It quenched the flames quickly.
The one who had fed the fire spoke briefly. The others nodded. They had their orders. Discussion was unnecessary. In minutes they were out in the Taglian streets.
Smoke muttered curses as he stepped into the rain. “Story of my life. Nothing goes right anymore.” He scuttled along, head down. “What am I doing out here?” He ought to be inside trying to make the Radisha see sense so she could make her brother see sense. They were going to ruin everything. All they had worked toward was going to fly away if they didn’t do something about that woman.
They were going to destroy Taglios by default. Why couldn’t they see that?
Sometimes a walk helped clear the mind. He needed to be out, away, alone, free. Some new avenue would present itself. There was a way to get through, he was sure. There had to be.
A bat zipped past so close he felt the air stirred by its wings. A bat? On a night like this?
&n
bsp; He recalled a time, before the legions marched, when bats had been everywhere. And someone had made a considerable effort to eliminate them. Someone like maybe those wizards who had travelled with the Black Company.
He halted, suddenly nervous. Bats in weather when bats should not fly? Not a good omen.
He had not come far. One minute and he’d be safely in the palace.
Another bat whipped past. He turned to run.
Three men blocked his path.
He whirled.
More men. Everywhere, men. He was surrounded. For half a minute they seemed a horde. But there were only six. In very bad Taglian one said, “A man want see you. You come.”
He looked around wildly. There was no escape.
The paradox of being Smoke, Smoke thought. Terrified when the danger was insubstantial, calm now with it concrete, he moved through streets dark and wet, surrounded by men no bigger than he. His mind worked perfectly. He could break away whenever he willed. One small spell and he could be gone, safe.
But something was afoot. It might be crucial to know what. That spell could be loosed later as well as now.
He pretended to be as rattled and craven as ever.
They took him to the worst part of the city, to a tenement that looked like it could collapse any second. He was more frightened of it than of them. They led him up four creaky flights. One man tapped a code on a door.
The door opened. They went inside. Smoke eyed the man waiting. He looked just like the six who had brought him. Nor did the man who had opened the door seem any different. All hatched in the same nest. But the man who waited spoke passable Taglian.
He asked, “You are the one called Smoke? The fire marshall? I cannot recall the full title.”
The wizard supposed they knew who and what he was, else he would not be here. “I am. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“I have no name. I can be called One Who Leads Eight Who Serve.” Ghost of a smile. “Unwieldy, yes? It is of no importance. I am the only one here who can speak your language. You won’t confuse me with anyone else.”
“Why did you interrupt my stroll?” Keep it cool, casual, he thought.
“Because we have a common interest in dealing with a peril so great it could devour the world. The Year of the Skulls.”