She Is the Darkness: Book Two of Glittering Stone: A Novel of the Black Company (8 page)

We stopped amidst a grand hubbub. I leaned out of the wagon.

The mists had become an all enveloping fog. People with torches hustled hither
and yon, their torches glowing like witch lights. None came near me. All the
forces had come together and now the world was very crowded.

Croaker appeared. I told him, “You look totally beat.”

“My ass is banging off my heels.” He climbed aboard, checked Smoke, settled down
and closed his eyes.

“Well?”

“Uhm?”

“You’re here. How come? And what about your goddamned pets? They watching?”

For a moment I thought he had gone to sleep that quickly. He did not answer
immediately. But: “I’m hiding out. From the birds, too. One-Eye scared them
off.” About two minutes later, he added, “I don’t like it, Murgen.”

“What don’t you like?”

“Being Captain. I wish I could’ve stayed Annalist and physician. There’s less
pressure.”

“You’re managing all right.”

“Not the way I hear it. I wasn’t Captain I wouldn’t have any long-term worries,

either.”

“Hell. And here I thought you were having the time of your life baffling the
shit out of everybody.”

“All I’ve ever wanted was to take us home. But they won’t let me.”

“It’s for sure nobody’s ever going to open any doors for us. Especially not the
Radisha. What to do about us seems to be on her mind a lot lately.”

“It ought to be.” He smiled. “And I haven’t forgotten her.” He paused a moment,

then said, “You’re up on your Annals. What was the bloodiest mess we ever got
ourselves into?”

“Right here is my guess. Back in the beginning, four hundred years ago. But
that’s only by implication in the surviving Annals.”

“History may repeat itself.” He did not sound thrilled. Not at all. He was not a
bloodthirsty man.

Neither am I, despite the hatreds I obsess over here. But my scruples do have
blind areas. I do want to see several thousand villains suffer for what happened
to Sahra.

Croaker asked, “Do you know of any way to authenticate the lost Annals you took
back from Soulcatcher?”

“What?” What a horrible question. It never occurred to me before. “You saying
you think they might not be real?”

“I couldn’t read them but I could see that they weren’t originals. They were
copies.”

“They might not have told the true story?”

“Smoke believed every word in the ones he had. And oral history supports his
view of the Company as the terror of the ages, though there aren’t any
specifics. But I do have to wonder because there just aren’t any contemporary
accounts from independent observers.”

“Something happened. Even if these books we have now are fabrications. What’re
you thinking?”

For a moment Croaker seemed tired of fighting. “Murgen, there’s something going
on that’s more than you and me and Lady, the Taglians and the Shadowmasters and
all that. Strange things are happening and they don’t add up any other way. I
started to wonder when you kept falling into the past.”

“I think Soulcatcher had something to do with that.”

“She may well have. She’s got her fingers in everywhere else. But I don’t think
she’s all of it. I think we’re all—even Soulcatcher—being manipulated. And I’m
even beginning to think that it’s been going on for ages. That if we had the
true firsts of the missing Annals and could read them we might see ourselves and
what’s happening in a whole different way.”

“Are you talking about the thing Lady goes on about in her book? Kina? Because
I’ve seen her myself, a couple of times, when I was out walking the ghost. Or
what I think was her based on myth and what Lady wrote.”

“Kina. Yes. Or something that wants us to think it’s Kina.”

“Wouldn’t that be the same thing, as far as we’re concerned?”

“Uhm. I think she’s having those dreams again.”

I thought so myself. “Looked like that to me, too. She’s getting pretty
haggard.”

“I thought a lot about this during the trip down here. Not much to do but think
when you’re riding all day. My guess is, things have started going too fast for
Kina. This is a critter that’s used to shaping long, slow shadow plays,

manipulations that can take decades to unfold. Maybe even generations in our
case. Her big scheme might have begun way back before our fore-brethren headed
north. But now we’re coming home to roost and everything is happening too fast
for her. The more she tries to guide events the more hamhanded she gets.”

“For instance?”

“Like what she did to Smoke.”

“I really figured that was something Soulcatcher did.” Although there had been
no evidence to pin that on her, either.

“I suppose that’s possible, too. It’s even possible they were both after him and
they got in each other’s way.”

I recalled what I could of the incident from Lady’s book. I decided to stick
with my Soulcatcher theory. Deceiver mythology did not credit Kina with that
much ability to reach into the mundane world. The whole point of the cult was to
bring on a time of such dramatic horror that the walls preventing Kina from
touching our world could be ripped down from our side.

I explained that.

Croaker just shrugged. “Listen to this. I’m almost certain there wasn’t supposed
to be any Black Company left after Dejagore. Except for Lady. She was the only
one who was supposed to survive. And her number was supposed to be up when the
Stranglers took our baby.”

I considered that. “If that guy Ram hadn’t fallen for Lady . . . ”

“That would’ve been the end of everything. Kina would’ve had her Daughter of
Night over on this side and the Year of the Skulls beginning to unfold without
anyone to interfere.”

I looked interested. That was easy. I was. I wanted him to keep going. Before he
finished I might actually have some idea why he did everything he did.

He said, “The wild cards messed up Kina’s hand.”

“Wild cards? You mean Soulcatcher?”

“She’s the biggest. But there’s Howler and there was Shifter and there’s still
Shifter’s apprentice out there somewhere. All of them not part of the plan.”

It was a hypothesis. It was well beyond any thinking I had done. Or in a
different direction.

“You be careful, Murgen. Stay in close touch with your feelings. Don’t let the
ghostwalking seduce you. This thing manipulates us through our emotions.”

“Why should I worry? I just write stuff down.”

His response was cryptic. “The standardbearer could be more important than the
Daughter of Night before this is all over.”

“How’s that?”

He changed the subject. “You looked for the forvalaka lately?” He meant the
shapeshifter trapped in animal form, the apprentice he had mentioned a moment
ago.

I thought about it, told him, “I’ve looked a few times but haven’t seen it since
I doubled back on the massacre at Vehdna-Bota.”

“I see. No hurry but when you get a chance, find out where she is now. We
couldn’t be so lucky that she’s gotten herself killed.”

“Oh, she hasn’t. One-Eye says she’s right out there in the wilds, following us.

We were talking about her the other night. He’s convinced her only reason for
living is to get even with him for killing Shifter before he taught her how to
change back.”

Croaker chuckled. “Yeah. Poor old boy. One of these days he’s going to discover
that he isn’t the center of the universe. May all our surprises be pleasant
ones. And all of Mogaba’s surprises real gut-rippers.” He chuckled again,

wickedly. As he climbed down from the wagon he said, “Almost showtime.”

He did see warfare more in terms of showmanship than in those of deadly games.

Once again I fluttered around Mogaba’s head. Me, Murgen, angel of espionage.

Howler and Longshadow had arrived soon after dawn. They believed it would take
both their concerted efforts to keep Lady from ripping Mogaba a new poop chute.

Lady’s powers seemed to swell as she moved farther south.

An idea hit like religious epiphany. I knew the fear that haunted the Captain.

He suspected that Lady had regained her powers by making a pact with Kina.

I have suspected that myself, off and on.

The way sorcery works, the way I understood it, her loss of powers during the
battle at the Barrowland should have been irreversible. It had to do with some
unfathomable mystical gobbledegook about true names. Gunni mythology contained
numerous stories about how gods and demons and devils went around hiding their
true names in rocks or trees or grains of sand on the beach so their enemies
would not be able to glom onto them and gain a hold. The whole business made no
sense but that did not keep it from working.

Lady’s true name had been named during the final showdown with her husband. She
survived but, according to the mystical rules, was now an ordinary mortal. With
looks to kill for. What made her interesting to people in her former trade was
that she was a living storehouse of wicked lore. She had not lost any of her
knowledge, only the ability to employ it.

I was surprised that she had not been a bigger target than she had so far.

Her name had no power over her anymore. Being powerless herself, apparently, she
could not take advantage of those true names she knew. Otherwise she would have
dealt with the Howler and her sister a long time ago. And she would not give
those names away even to One-Eye and Goblin. She would die first.

It takes a strange sort to become a wizard or sorceress.

She had her own agenda still, that was certain. One-Eye or Goblin were not much
but some things were like dropping a rock down a well.

From conversations overheard I knew Longshadow would part with three or four
thumbs to get hold of what Lady knew.

Funny. Whenever he sent Howler to capture her the scheme machine never quite
clicked. You would almost think Howler did not want his senior partner to become
any more senior.

Someday I will have to get Lady to explain the whole true names thing in a way
that even a dummy like me can understand. Maybe I can get her to explain the
whole business of sorcery so that those of us who study these Annals will have
at least a vague idea of what is going on.

Knowing will not keep us from crapping our small clothes when we run into
sorcery but, still, it would be nice to have a notion what is behind all the
deadly lights.

The Shadowlander soldiers were all in place. They gnawed field rations sleepily,

hard at work at what soldiers do most. While we all waited I hung around those
who spoke languages I could understand. The philosophers among them examined the
intellects and characters of generals who put their troops into formation and
made them stand ready when nothing was going to happen. Nothing. The damned Tals
were too damned tired to do anything. They had spent the whole damned night on
the move.

“Tal” was a sort of pun. Though short for “Taglian” it also meant “turd” in the
Sangel dialects common south of the Dandha Presh.

I felt like I had soldiered with those guys. They spoke my language.

Mogaba had built himself a giant observation tower a safe distance behind the
lines. It was wooden. I thought he was going to find it uncomfortable pretty
soon. Longshadow and Howler had joined him up there. The atmosphere was not
festive but it was far from grim. Nobody was worried about us.

Longshadow threatened to become cheerful. This battle was the culmination of all
his planning. When it was over nothing could stop him from making himself master
of the world. Except maybe a few allies who did not quite share his ambitions.

I was hurt. A guy likes to be taken seriously. Mogaba had these people, from top
to bottom, believing they were invincible.

In the soldiering business you are often what you think you are.

Confidence generates victory.

Howler did not scream once while I watched. Longshadow did not throw one
tantrum.

Much as they fussed about Lady you would think they would be more tense.

The rising sun began burning off the mist except around our camp. The wind was a
feeble breeze coming from Lady’s flank. Fires smoldered there, keeping the camp
obscured. The Shadowlanders could see only the camp followers who had been
strong armed into feeding the fires and four wooden towers now rising above the
smoke and mist. They were your basic siege towers, being assembled from precut
parts brought up from barges on the Naghir River only with a lot of effort and
plenty of good old fashioned cussing.

I did not understand. What was the point out here? We were not going to be
clambering over any castle walls.

Knowing Croaker, the project was under way just to get Mogaba wondering why.

I dove Smoke into the smoke. The activity inside was not what I expected. The
soldiers were asleep. Those who were up and about were mostly camp followers.

They fed the fires, assembled the towers, smoothed the ground in paths leading
toward Mogaba’s lines, cursed the moment Croaker was born. They had not followed
the army so they could do its work.

The soldiers who drove them to their tasks were not kind. The Old Man was clever
enough to have had the work crews assembled according to religion, then managed
by soldiers who did not cherish their beliefs.

Some details of Croaker’s plan had begun trickling down through the ranks but
there was no way anyone could put the pieces together into a whole. He would not
let the whole picture get out where a genius could puzzle it out from its
fragments.

Now the challenge was to keep the only man who knew what it was alive until . .

. Ah, me, Murgen. Where is your Black Company confidence?

It never existed except as show.

Ha. Here was Willow Swan, tall, blond and beautiful, trying harder than I to
understand. An intuition might win him points with Lady. But he was grumbling in
confusion to his companions.

I found Lady not far away. She was not worried about what was going on. She was
focused on business. She had taken station atop a knoll that raised her above
the smoke. She stared up the pass, ready if the other side tried something.

I took Smoke back to One-Eye’s wagon. Time for breakfast.

“About goddamned time, Kid!” One-Eye complained. “You’ve got to start taking
shorter trips. You’re gonna end up getting lost out there.”

Everybody kept telling me that. It did not seem to be happening, though, so my
share of those fears were fading away. I asked, “Anything interesting
happening?”

“There’s a war on. Come on. Get out of the way. I need the old fart so I can do
my part. Go get some exercise. Eat something. Make him some soup so you can feed
him when I’m done.”

“You feed him when you’re done, bat-breath. You’re the man with the job.”

“You got a real attitude problem, Kid.”

“We about to try something?”

“No. We hiked five hundred goddamn miles in the middle of goddamn winter because
they say the brush down here is so goddamn great for cookouts.”

“Everybody acts like they’re drugged.”

“Could be on account of they’re drugged. I don’t know. Just my opinion. I could
be wrong. Get out of my way. I got work to do.”

The smoke was awful. And it got worse nearer the front of the army. Scant yards
made a huge difference. After my first foray in that direction I decided
curiosity could wait. I hung around the wagon. I ate and ate and ate. I used up
most of One-Eye’s water. Served him right, the way he abused me.

I thought about Sahra. I knew I would be thinking of her a lot now. Danger has a
way of making you dwell on the things most important to you.

The proximity of Narayan Singh haunted me, too. The living saint of the
Deceivers was less than a mile away, tending his own cookfire while the Daughter
of Night looked on dreamily, well bundled against the morning chill and damp.

I started. Damn! That little reverie was almost real.

I got restless waiting to get back to Smoke. I wanted to see if Singh was making
breakfast. I needed to get away from all these thoughts about Sarie.

When would the scars form around the pain? When would it stop hurting so much
that I had to run away?

I stared into the fire and tried to banish the thoughts. That was like picking
at a scab. The harder I tried to think about something else the more I focused
on Sarie. Eventually the fire filled my entire horizon and I seemed to see my
wife on the other side, rumpled and beautiful and somewhat pallid as she went
about the mundane business of cooking rice. It was like I was looking back
through time to a moment I had lived before.

I made a noise like a dog strangling and jumped to my feet. Not again! I was
over those falls into the past . . . wasn’t I?

One-Eye clambered down from the wagon. “All done, Kid. You can have him if you
need him but you really ought to give it a break. Ain’t nothing going to happen
for a while, anyway.”

“What’re we burning in these fires? I’m having visions or something here.”

One-Eye sucked in a couple gallons of air, held his breath a while, then blew it
out, shook his head, disappointed. “You’re imagining things.”

“I never did.”

I never did. That was worth thinking about. I glanced around to see who was
listening. Mother Gota was at the family cookfire but her Forsberger was not
good enough to give her a clue.

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.