“I have him wrapped up, then. Seventy percent.”
“Hey. Blow in his ear. Throw a liplock on his love muscle. Do whatever you have to. If Catcher loses him, she won’t ever trust anybody else down here, either.”
* * *
Goblin used almost the same language as Murgen had when I stopped to visit again. He found Murgen’s advice fully excellent. “Grab fat boy by his prong and never let go. Give him a little squeeze once in a while to keep him smiling.”
“I’ve probably said it before. You’re one cynical mud-sucker.”
“It’s all those years of watching out for One-Eye that done it to me. I was a sweet, innocent young thing when I joined this outfit. Not unlike yourself.”
“You were born wicked and cynical.”
Goblin chuckled. “How much stuff do you think you need to collect before we go up the hill? How long do you think it’ll take?”
“It won’t take forever if Suvrin cooperates.”
“Never, ever, forget that you don’t have long. I can’t emphasize that enough. Soulcatcher is coming. You’ve never seen her when she’s all worked up.”
“The Kiaulune wars don’t count?” He must have seen something extreme. He was determined to pound the point home.
“The Kiaulune wars don’t count. She was just entertaining herself with those.”
* * *
I forced myself to make the visit I had been avoiding.
The Daughter of Night wore ankle shackles. She resided inside an iron cage heavily impregnated with spells that caused ever-increasing agony as their victim moved farther away. She could escape but that would hurt. If she pushed it hard enough, she would die.
It appeared that every possible step had been taken to keep her under control. Except the lethal step reason urged me to take. I had no more motive for keeping her alive—except that I had given my word.
The men all took turns being exposed to her, in pairs, at mealtimes and such. Sahra had not been lax. She appreciated the danger the girl represented.
My first glimpse left me stricken with envy. Despite her disadvantages, she had kept herself beautiful, looking much like her mother in a fresher body. But something infinitely older and darker looked out through her pretty blue eyes. For a moment she struck me not as the Daughter of Night, but as the darkness itself.
She did have plenty of time to commune with her spiritual mother.
She smiled as though aware of the serpents of dark temptation slithering the black corridors of my mind. I wanted to bed her. I wanted to murder her. I wanted to run away, begging for mercy. It took an exercise of will to remind myself that Kina and her children were not evil in the sense that northerners or even my Vehdna co-religionists understood evil.
Nevertheless … she was the darkness.
I stepped back, tossed the tent flap open so my ally, daylight, could come inside. The girl lost her smile. She backed to the far side of her cage. I could think of nothing to say. There was really nothing we could say to one another. I had no inclination to gloat and little news of the world outside to report, which might motivate her to do something besides wait.
She had her spiritual mother’s patience, that was sure.
A blow from behind rocked me. I clawed at my stubby little sword.
White wings mussed my nattily arranged hair. Talons dug into my shoulder. The Daughter of Night stared at the white crow and revealed real emotion for the first time in a long time. Her confidence wavered. Fear leaked through. She pressed back against the bars behind her.
“Have you two met?” I asked.
The crow said something like, “Wawk! Wiranda!”
The girl began to shake. If possible, she became even paler. Her jaw seemed clenched so tight her teeth ought to be cracking. I made a mental note to discuss this with Murgen. He knew something about the crow.
What could rattle the girl so badly?
The crow laughed. It whispered, “Sister, sister,” and launched itself back into the sunlight, where it startled some passing brother into a fit of curses.
I stared at the girl, watched the inner steel reassert itself. Her gaze met mine. I felt the fear within her evaporate. I was nothing to her, less than an insect, certainly less than a stubbed toe at the beginning of her long trek across the ages.
Shuddering, I broke eye contact.
That was a scary kid.
66
Our days began before sunrise. They ended after sunset. They included a great deal of training and exercise of the sort that had been let slide for too long. Tobo worked with almost fanatic devotion to improve his skills as an illusionist. I insisted upon daily readings from the Annals in an effort to reinforce the depth and continuity of brotherhood that were so much the foundation of what the Company was. There was resistance at first, of course, but the message sank in at a pace not unrelated to a growing realization that we were going to go up onto the glittering plain—really!—or were going to die here in front of the Shadowgate when Soulcatcher chose to write our final chapter.
The renewed training paid dividends quickly. Eight days after we reduced the fort below the Shadowgate, another mob like Suvrin’s, but much larger, trudged in out of the country west of the New Town. Thanks to Murgen, we had plenty of warning. With Tobo and Goblin assisting, we sprang a classic Company ambush using illusions and nuisance spells that confused and disorganized a force that had had almost no idea what it was doing already. We hit fast and hard and mercilessly and the threat evaporated in a matter of minutes. In fact, the relief force fell apart so fast we could not take as many prisoners as I wanted, though we did round up most of the officers. Suvrin generously identified those he recognized.
Suvrin was practically an apprentice Company man by now, so desperate was he to belong to something and to gain the approval of those around him. I felt halfway guilty exploiting him the way I did.
The prisoners we did take became involuntary laborers in our preparations for the future. Most jumped on the opportunity because I promised to release those who did work hard before we went up onto the plain. Those who failed to work hard would go along as porters. Somehow a rumor got started amongst the prisoners that human sacrifice might be involved in what we were going to be doing once we passed the Shadowgate.
I found Goblin in with One-Eye, whose recovery seemed to have been sped by Gota’s presence. Possibly because he needed to be well enough to get away from her and her cooking. I do not know. They had the Key laid out on a small table between them. Doj, Tobo and Gota watched. Even Mother Gota kept her mouth shut.
Sahra was conspicuously absent.
She was carrying her snit over Tobo too far. I expect there was more to it than what she admitted, though. A big part would center on her fear of the near future.
“Right there,” One-Eye said just as I leaned forward to see what Goblin was doing. The little bald man had a light hammer and a chisel. He tapped the chisel. A piece of iron flipped off the Key. This had been going on for a while, evidently, because about half the iron was gone, revealing something made of gold. I was so surprised at the wizard’s lack of greed that I almost forgot to worry about what they were doing to the Key.
I opened my mouth. Without looking up, One-Eye told me, “Don’t shit your knickers yet, Little Girl. We ain’t hurting a thing. The Key is this thing inside. This golden hammer. You want to bend down a little closer? Maybe you can read what’s inscribed on it.”
I bent. I scanned the characters made visible by removal of the iron. “Looks like the same alphabet as the first book of the Annals.” Not to mention the first Book of the Dead. Which I did not mention.
Goblin used the tip of his chisel to indicate a prominent symbol that appeared in several places. “Doj says he saw this sign at the temple in the Grove of Doom.”
“It should be there.” I knew that one. Master Santaraksita had taught me its meaning. “It’s the personal sign of the goddess. Her personal chop, if you want.” I did not name a name. I su
ggested, “Don’t speak the name. Not in any of its forms. In the presence of this thing, that would be guaranteed to attract her attention.” Everyone stared at me. I asked, “You didn’t do that already, did you? No? Uncle, you don’t know what this thing might really be, do you?” I had an intuition it was something Narayan Singh might never have surrendered had he been aware that it was in his possession. I thought it might exist solely so that the priest who carried it could obtain the attention of his goddess instantly. Even in my own religion, people had had a much more immediate and scary relationship with the godhead in ancient times. The scriptures told us so. But no such golden hammer played any part in the Kina mythology, insofar as I could recall. Curious. Maybe Master Santaraksita could tell me more.
Goblin continued chipping away. I continued watching. The process went faster as each fragment fell.
“That isn’t any hammer,” I said. “That’s a kind of pickax. It’s a Deceiver cult thing. And older than dirt. It has to be something of huge religious significance.” I suggested, “Show it to the girl. See how she responds.”
“You’re as close to a Kina expert as we’ve got, Sleepy. What could it be?”
“There’s actually a name for that kind of tool but I can’t remember what it is. Every Deceiver band had a pickax like this. Not made out of gold, though. They used them in the burial ceremonies after their murders. To break the bones of their victims so they would fold up into a smaller wad. Sometimes they used them to help dig graves. All with the appropriate ceremonies aimed at pleasing Kina, of course. I really do think somebody should show this to the Daughter of Night and see what she says.”
It seemed like a thousand pairs of eyes were staring at me, waiting for me to volunteer. I told them, “I’m not doing it. I’m going to bed.”
All those eyes kept right on staring. I had put myself in charge. This was something nobody but the guy in charge ought to handle.
“All right. Uncle. Tobo. Goblin. You back me up on this. That child has talents we can’t guess at yet.” I had been warned that she still tried to walk away from her flesh at night, despite all the constraints surrounding her. She was both her mothers’ daughter and there was no telling what might happen when she had to suffer too much stress.
Tobo protested. “I don’t like to be around her. She gives me the creeps.”
Goblin beat me to it. “Kid, she gives everybody the creeps. She’s the creepiest thing I’ve run into in a hundred fifty years. Get used to it. Deal with it. It’s part of the job. Which they say you were born to do and which you did ask for.”
Curious. Goblin the mentor and instructor seemed much more articulate than Goblin the want-to-be-layabout and slacker.
The little wizard suggested, “You carry the Key. You’re young and strong.”
The Daughter of Night did not look up when we entered the tent. Perhaps she was not aware of us. She seemed to be meditating. Possibly communing with the Dark Mother. Goblin kicked the bars of her cage, which rattled nicely and shed a shower of rust. “Well, look at her. Cute.”
“What?” I asked.
“She’s been working some kind of spell on the iron. It’s rusting away a thousand times faster than it ought to. Clever girl. Only—”
The clever girl looked up. Our eyes met. Something behind hers chilled me to the bone. “Only what?” I asked.
“Only every spell holding her and controlling her has that cage for an anchor, Anything that happens to it will happen to her. Look at her skin.”
I saw what he meant. The Daughter of Night was not exactly rusty herself but did look spotty and frayed at the surface.
Her gaze shifted to Uncle, Goblin, Tobo … and she gasped, like she was seeing the boy for the first time. She rose slowly, drifted toward the bars, gaze locked with his. Then a little frown danced across her brow. Her gaze darted down to Tobo’s burden.
Her mouth opened and, I swear, a sound like the angry bellow of an elephant rolled out. Her eyes grew huge. She lunged forward. Her shackles gave way. The bars of the cage creaked and let fall another shower of rust. They bent but did not give. She thrust an arm through in a desperate effort to reach the Key. Little bits of skin blackened and fell off her. And still she was beautiful.
I observed, “I guess we can safely say the thing does hold some significance for the Deceivers.”
“You could say so,” Goblin admitted. The girl’s whole arm had begun to look like it had been badly burned.
“So let’s take it away and see what else we can find out. And get the cage reinforced and her shackles replaced. Tobo!” The boy kept staring at the girl like he was seeing her for the first time. “Don’t tell me he just fell in love. I couldn’t handle it if we had to worry about that in addition to everything else.”
“No,” Uncle Doj reassured me. “Not love, I think. But the future, just maybe.”
Although I tried to insist, he would not expand upon that remark. He was still Uncle Doj, the mystery priest of the Nyueng Bao.
67
Things came together nicely after the defeat of the relief column. Murgen said nobody else was likely to challenge us without help from beyond the mountains. Which help, unfortunately, was on the way already. Soulcatcher was airborne and lurching southward in small, erratic leaps that, nevertheless, were bringing her closer faster than any animal could do—even one of those magical stallions from the Tower at Charm—but still definitely very feebly for a flying carpet. Once upon a time the Howler could conquer the miles between Overlook and Taglios in a single night.
Soulcatcher had to rest several hours for every hour she spent aloft. Even so, she was on her way. And the impact of the news on the troops was electric. With only days left, or possibly only hours, everyone buckled down and put their back into it. I saw very little slacking, little wasted effort, and some very serious concentration when it came to honing military skills.
Suvrin was right in there with the troops, drilling his behind off. Literally. Though he had been with us only a short time, he had begun to lose weight and show signs of shaping up. He approached me soon after Murgen and Goblin began issuing regular reports about Soulcatcher’s progress. “I want to stay with you, ma’am,” he told me.
“You what?” I was surprised.
“I’m not sure I want to be part of the Black Company but I do know for sure that I don’t want to be here when the Protector shows up. She has a reputation for seldom letting herself be swayed by the facts. The futility of me having resisted you won’t impress her.”
“You’re right about that. If you shirked because you would’ve gotten killed doing what she expected, she’ll arrange it so you get dead anyway. In a less pleasant way, if possible. All right, Suvrin. You’ve kept your word and you’ve been a good worker.”
He winced. “You understand what ‘Suvrin’ actually means?”
“Junior, essentially. But you’re stuck with it now. Most people in the Company don’t go by their birth names. Even most of the men who go by regular names don’t go by their real ones. They’re all getting away from their past. And you will be, too.”
He grimaced.
“Report to Master Santaraksita. Until I find something else for you, your job will be to assist him. Old Baladitya is no use at all. He’s worse than Santaraksita, who keeps getting farther and farther behind in his packing because he keeps getting distracted by his books.” Santaraksita had managed to acquire several antique volumes locally that had, miraculously, survived the countless disasters that had beset the region these past several decades.
Suvrin bowed. “Thank you.” There was a fresh bounce in his step as he walked away.
I suspected he and Master Santaraksita might have a lot in common. Heck, Suvrin could even read.
Tobo materialized. “My father says to tell you that Soulcatcher has reached Charandaprash. And that she’s decided to rest there before she crosses the Dandha Presh.”
“A few more hours’ grace. Excellent. Means there’s a good chance
there won’t be anything left here for her to find but our tracks. How are you getting along with your mother? Did you make any effort at all?”
“Dad also says he wants you to post somebody with a warning horn that can be sounded once the Protector gets dangerously close. And he says you should pull in the pickets watching the pass now, just in case Soulcatcher changes her mind about taking some time off.”
That was a good idea.
Runmust and Riverwalker made the mistake of being close enough to be seen. I sent them to go bring the scouts home. “Tobo, you can’t ignore your mother. You’ll end up getting along with her worse than she gets along with your grandmother.”
“Sleepy … why can’t she just let me grow up?”
“Because you’re her baby, you idiot! Don’t you understand that? When you’re twice as old as One-Eye you’ll still be her baby. The only baby that cruel fate hasn’t gobbled down. You do remember that your mother had other children and she lost them?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“I’ve never had children. I never want to have children. In part because I can see how horrible it would be to see my own flesh and blood die and not be able to do anything to prevent it. Family is supposed to be extremely important to you Nyueng Bao. I want you to drop whatever you’re doing. Right now. Go over and sit on that boulder. Spend two hours not thinking about anything but what it must have meant to your mother to see your brother and sister die. Think about how badly she must not want to go through that again. Think about what it must be like to be her after everything else she’s had to go through. You’re a smart kid. You can figure it out.”
When you are around people long enough you get a feel for how they react. I could see his first petulant inclination was to remind me that I had been younger than he was now when I attached myself to Bucket and the Company, which had little to do with the argument at hand but which was the sort of tool you grab when you are that age.
“If you intend to say something, make sure it makes sense before you do. Because if you can’t think logically and argue logically, then there isn’t much hope that you’ll have any success with the sorcery, no matter how talented you are. I know. I know. From everything you’ve seen, the bigger the wizards are, the crazier they are. But within the boundaries of their insanity, every one of them is rigorously, mathematically rational. The entire power of their minds serves their insanity. When they stumble it’s because they let emotions or wishful thinking get in the way.”