Chronicles of the Black Company

  Raven. Colder than our weather since Oar. A dead soul now, maybe. He can make a man shudder with a glance. He exudes a stench of the grave. And yet, Darling loves him. Pale, frail, ethereal, she kept one hand on his shoulder while he ordered his cards. She smiled for him.

  Raven is an asset in any game including One-Eye. One-Eye cheats. But never when Raven is playing.

  She stands in the Tower, gazing northward. Her delicate hands are clasped before Her. A breeze steals softly through Her window. It stirs the midnight silk of Her hair. Tear diamonds sparkle on the gentle curve of Her cheek.”

  “Hoo-wee!”

  “Oh, wow!”

  “Author! Author!”

  “May a sow litter in your bedroll, Willie.” Those characters got a howl out of my fantasies about the Lady.

  The sketches are a game I play with myself. Hell, for all they know, my inventions might be on the mark. Only the Ten Who Were Taken ever see the Lady. Who knows if she is ugly, beautiful, or what?

  “Tear diamonds sparkling, eh?” One-Eye said. “I like that. Figure she’s pining for you, Croaker?”

  “Knock it off. I don’t make fun of your games.”

  The Lieutenant entered, seated himself, regarded us with a black scowl. Lately his mission in life has been to disapprove.

  His advent meant the Captain was on his way. Elmo folded his hand, composed himself.

  The place fell silent. Men appeared as if by magic. “Bar the damned door!” One-Eye muttered. “They keep stumbling in like this, I’ll freeze my ass off. Play the hand out, Elmo.”

  The Captain came in, took his usual seat. “Let’s hear it, Sergeant.”

  The Captain is not one of our more colorful characters. Too quiet. Too serious.

  Elmo laid his cards down, tapped their edges into alignment, ordered his thoughts. He can become obsessed with brevity and precision.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Silent spotted a picket line south of the farm, Captain. We circled north. Attacked after sunset. They tried to scatter. Silent distracted Raker while we handled the others. Thirty men. We got twenty-three. We yelled a lot about not letting our spy get hurt. We missed Raker.”

  Sneaky makes this outfit work. We want the Rebel to believe his ranks are shot with informers. That hamstrings his communications and decisionmaking, and makes life less chancy for Silent, One-Eye, and Goblin.

  The planted rumor. The small frame. The touch of bribery or blackmail. Those are the best weapons. We opt battle only when we have our opponents mousetrapped. At least ideally.

  “You returned directly to the fortress?”

  “Yes sir. After burning the farmhouse and outbuildings. Raker concealed his trail well.”

  The Captain considered the smoke-darkened beams overhead. Only One-Eye’s snapping of his cards broke the silence. The Captain dropped his gaze. “Then, pray, why are you and Silent grinning like a pair of prize fools?”

  One-Eye muttered, “Proud they came home empty-handed.”

  Elmo grinned some more. “But we didn’t.”

  Silent dug inside his filthy shirt, produced the small leather bag that always hangs on a thong around his neck. His trick bag. It is filled with noxious oddments like putrified bat’s ears or elixir of nightmare. This time he produced a folded piece of paper. He cast dramatic glances at One-Eye and Goblin, opened the packet fold by fold. Even the Captain left his seat, crowded the table.

  “Behold!” said Elmo.

  Tain’t nothing but hair.” Heads shook. Throats grumbled. Somebody questioned Elmo’s grasp on reality. But One-Eye and Goblin had three big coweyes between them. One-Eye chirruped inarticulately Goblin squeaked a few times, but, then, Goblin always squeaks. “Is it really his?” he managed at last. “Really his?”

  Elmo and Silent radiated the smugness of eminently successful conquistadors. “Absodamnlutely,” Elmo said. “Right off the top of his bean. We had that old man by the balls and he knew it. He was heeling and toeing it out of there so fast he smacked his noggin on a doorframe. Saw it myself, and so did Silent. Left these on the beam. Whoo, that gaffer can step.”

  And Goblin, an octave above his usual rusty hinge squall, dancing in his excitement, said, “Gents, we’ve got him. He’s as good as hanging on a meathook right now. The big one.” He meowed at One-Eye. “What do you think of that, you sorry little spook?”

  A herd of minuscule lightning bugs poured out of One-Eye’s nostrils. Good soldiers all, they fell into formation, spelling out the words Goblin is a Poof. Their little wings hummed the words for the benefit of the illiterate.

  There is no truth to that canard. Goblin is thoroughly heterosexual. One-Eye was trying to start something.

  Goblin made a gesture. A great shadow-figure, like Soulcatcher but tall enough to brush the ceiling beams, bent and skewered One-Eye with an accusing finger. A sourceless voice whispered, “It was you that corrupted the lad, sodder.”

  One-Eye snorted, shook his head, shook his head and snorted. His eye glazed. Goblin giggled, stifled himself, giggled again. He spun away, danced a wild victory jig in front of the fireplace.

  Our less intuitive brethren grumbled. A couple of hairs. With those and two bits silver you could get rolled by the village whores.

  “Gentlemen!” The Captain understood.

  The shadow-show ceased. The Captain considered his wizards. He thought. He paced. He nodded to himself. Finally, he asked, “One-Eye. Are they enough?”

  One-Eye chuckled, an astonishingly deep sound for so small a man. “One hair, sir, or one nail paring, is enough. Sir, we have him.”

  Goblin continued his weird dance. Silent kept grinning. Raving lunatics, the lot of them.

  The Captain thought some more. “We can’t handle this ourselves.” He circled the hall, his pacing portentous. “We’ll have to bring in one of the Taken.”

  One of the Taken. Naturally. Our three sorcerers are our most precious resource. They must be protected. But.… Cold stole in and froze us into statues. One of the Lady’s shadow disciples.… One of those dark lords here? No.…

  “Not the Limper. He’s got a hard-on for us.”

  “Shifter gives me the creeps.”

  “Nightcrawler is worse.”

  “How the hell do you know? You never seen him.”

  One-Eye said, “We can handle it, Captain.”

  “And Raker’s cousins would be on you like flies on a horseapple.”

  “Soulcatcher,” the Lieutenant suggested. “He is our patron, more or less.”

  The suggestion carried. The Captain said, “Contact him, One-Eye. Be ready to move when he gets here.”

  One-Eye nodded, grinned. He was in love. Already, tricky, nasty plots were afoot in his twisted mind.

  It should have been Silent’s game, really. The Captain gave it to One-Eye because he cannot come to grips with Silent’s refusal to talk. That scares him for some reason.

  Silent did not protest.

  Some of our native servants are spies. We know who they are, thanks to One-Eye and Goblin. One, who knew nothing about the hair, was allowed to flee with the news that we were setting up an espionage headquarters in the free city Roses.

  When you have the smaller battalions you learn guile.

  * * *

  Every ruler makes enemies. The Lady is no exception. The Sons of the White Rose are everywhere.… If one chooses sides on emotion, then the Rebel is the guy to go with. He is fighting for everything men claim to honor: freedom, independence, truth, the right.… All the subjective illusions, all the eternal trigger-words. We are minions of the villain of the piece. We confess the illusion and deny the substance.

  There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious historians rule where good or evil lies.

  We abjure labels. We fight for money and an indefinable pride. The politics, the ethics, the moralities, are irrelevant.

  One-Eye had contacted Soulcatcher. He was coming. Goblin said the old spook howled
with glee. He smelled a chance to raise his stock and scuttle that of the Limper. The Ten squabble and backbite worse than spoiled children.

  Winter relaxed its siege briefly. The men and native staff began clearing Meystrikt’s courtyards. One of the natives disappeared. In the main hall, One-Eye and Silent looked smug over their cards. The Rebel was being told exactly what they wanted.

  “What’s happening on the wall?” I asked. Elmo had rigged block and tackle and was working a crennel stone loose. “What’re you going to do with that block?”

  “A little sculpture, Croaker. I’ve taken up a new hobby.”

  “So don’t tell me. See if I care.”

  “Take that attitude if you want. I was going to ask if you could go after Raker with us. So you could put it in the Annals right.”

  “With a word about One-Eye’s genius?”

  “Credit where credit is due, Croaker.”

  “Then Silent is due a chapter, isn’t he?”

  He sputtered. He grumbled. He cursed. “You want to play a hand?” They had only three players, one of whom was Raven. Tonk is more interesting with four or five.

  I won three hands straight.

  “Don’t you have anything to do? A wart to cut off, or something?”

  “You asked him to play,” a kibbitzing soldier observed.

  “You like flies, Otto?”

  “Flies?”

  “Going to turn you into a frog if you don’t shut your mouth.”

  Otto was not impressed. “You couldn’t turn a tadpole into a frog.”

  I snickered. “You asked for it, One-Eye. When is Soulcatcher going to show?”

  “When he gets here,”

  I nodded. There is no apparent rhyme or reason to the way the Taken do things. “Regular Cheerful Charlies today, aren’t we? How much has he lost, Otto?”

  Otto just smirked.

  Raven won the next two hands.

  One-Eye swore off talking. So much for discovering the nature of his project. Probably for the best. An explanation never made could not be overheard by the Rebel’s spies.

  Six hairs and a block of limestone. What the hell?

  For days Silent, Goblin, and One-Eye took turns working that stone. I visited the stable occasionally. They let me watch, and growl when they would not answer questions.

  The Captain, too, sometimes poked his head in, shrugged, and went back to his quarters. He was juggling strategies for a spring campaign which would throw all available Imperial might against the Rebel. His rooms were impenetrable, so thick were the maps and reports.

  We meant to hurt the Rebel some once the weather turned.

  Cruel it may be, but most of us enjoy what we do—and the Captain more than anyone. This is a favorite game, matching wits with a Raker. He is blind to the dead, to the burning villages, to the starving children. As is the Rebel. Two blind armies, able to see nothing but one another.

  Soulcatcher came in the deep hours, amidst a blizzard which beggared the one Elmo endured. The wind wailed and howled. Snow drifted against the northeast corner of the fortress, battlement-high, and spilled over. Wood and hay stores were becoming a concern. Locals said it was the worst blizzard in history.

  At its height, Soulcatcher came. The boom-boom-boom of his knock awakened all Meystrikt. Horns sounded. Drums rolled. The gatehouse watch screeched against the wind. They could not open the gate.

  Soulcatcher came over the wall via the drift. He fell, nearly vanished in the loose snow in the forecourt. Hardly a dignified arrival for one of the Ten.

  I hurried to the main hall. One-Eye, Silent, and Goblin were there already, with the fire blazing merrily. The Lieutenant appeared, followed by the Captain. Elmo and Raven came with the Captain. “Send the rest back to bed,” the Lieutenant snapped.

  Soulcatcher came in, removed a heavy black greatcloak, squatted before the fire. A calculatedly human gesture? I wondered.

  Soulcatcher’s slight body is always sheathed in black leather. He wears that head-hiding black morion, and the black gloves and black boots. Only a couple of silver badges break the monotony. The only color about him is the uncut ruby forming the pommel of his dagger. A five-taloned claw clutches the gem to [ho handle of the weapon.

  Small, soft curves interrupt the flatness of Soulcatcher’s chest. There is a feminine flair to his hips and legs. Three of the Taken are female, but which are which only the Lady knows. We call them all he. Their sex won’t ever mean a thing to us.

  Soulcatcher claims to be our friend, our champion. Even so, his presence brought a different chill to the hall. The cold of him has nothing to do with climate. Even One-Eye shivers when he is around.

  And Raven? I do not know. Raven seems incapable of feeling anymore, except where Darling is concerned. Someday that great stone face is going to break. I hope I am there to see it.

  Soulcatcher turned his back to the fire. “So.” High-pitched. “Fine weather for an adventure.” Baritone. Strange sounds followed. Laughter. The Taken had made a joke.

  Nobody laughed.

  We were not supposed to laugh. Soulcatcher turned to One-Eye. “Tell me.” This in tenor, slow and soft, with a muffled quality, as if it were coming through a thin wall. Or, as Elmo says, from beyond the grave.

  There was no bluster or showman in One-Eye now, “We’ll start from the beginning. Captain?”

  The Captain said, “One of our informants caught wind of a meeting of the Rebel captains. One-Eye, Goblin, and Silent followed the movements of known Rebels.…”

  “You let them run around loose?”

  “They lead us to their friends.”

  “Of course. One of the Limper’s shortcomings. No imagination. He kills them where he finds them—along with everyone else in sight.” Again that weird laughter. “Less effective, yes?” There was another sentence, but in no language I know.

  The Captain nodded. “Elmo?”

  Elmo told his part as he had before, word for word. He passed the tale to One-Eye, who sketched a scheme for taking Raker. I did not understand, but Soulcatcher caught it instantly. He laughed a third time.

  I gathered we were going to unleash the dark side of human nature.

  One-Eye took Soulcatcher to see his mystery stone. We moved closer to the fire. Silent produced a deck. There were no takers.

  Sometimes I wonder how the regulars stay sane. They are around the Taken all the time. Soulcatcher is a sweetheart compared to the others.

  One-Eye and Soulcatcher returned, laughing. “Two of a kind,” Elmo muttered, in a rare statement of opinion.

  Soulcatcher recaptured the fire. “Well done, gentlemen. Very well done. Imaginative. This could break them in the Salient. We start for Roses when the weather breaks. A party of eight, Captain, including two of your witch men.” Each sentence was followed by a break. Each was in a different voice. Weird.

  I have heard those are the voices of all the people whose souls Soulcatcher has caught.

  Bolder than my wont, I volunteered for the expedition. I wanted to see how Raker could be taken with hair and a block of limestone. The Limper had failed with all his furious power.

  The Captain thought about it. “Okay, Croaker. One-Eye and Goblin. You, Elmo. And pick two more.”

  “That’s only seven, Captain.”

  “Raven makes eight.”

  “Oh. Raven. Of course.”

  Of course. Quiet, deadly Raven would be the Captain’s alter ego. The bond between those men surpasses understanding. Guess it bothers me because Raven scares the hell out of me lately.

  Raven caught the Captain’s eye. His right eyebrow rose. The Captain replied with a ghost of a nod. Raven twitched a shoulder. What was the message? I could not guess.

  Something unusual was in the wind. Those in the know found it delicious. Though I could not guess what it was, I knew it would be slick and nasty.

  The storm broke. Soon the Roses road was open. Soulcatcher fretted. Raker had two weeks start. It would take us a week to reach Rose
s. One-Eye’s planted tales might lose their efficacy before we arrived.

  We left before dawn, the limestone block aboard a wagon. The wizards had done little but carve out a modest declivity the size of a large melon. I could not fathom its value. One-Eye and Goblin fussed over it like grooms over new brides. One-Eye answered my questions with a big grin. Bastard.

  The weather held fair. Warm winds blew out of the south. We encountered long stretches of muddy road. And I witnessed an outrageous phenomenon. Soulcatcher got down in the mud and dragged that wagon with the rest of us. That great lord of the empire.

  Roses is the queen city of the Salient, a teeming sprawl, a free city, a republic. The Lady has not seen fit to revoke its traditional autonomy. The world needs places where men of all stripes and stations can step outside the usual strictures.

  So. Roses. Owning no master. Filled with agents and spies and those who live on the dark side of the law. In that environment, One-Eye claimed, his scheme had to prosper.

  Roses’ red walls loomed over us, dark as old blood in the light of the setting sun, when we arrived.

  Goblin ambled into the room we had taken. “I found the place,” he squeaked at One-Eye.

  “Good.”

  Curious. They had not exchanged a cross word in weeks. Usually an hour without a squabble was a miracle.

  Soulcatcher shifted in the shadowed corner where he remained planted like a lean black bush, a crowd softly debating with itself. “Go on.”

  “It’s an old public square. A dozen alleys and streets going in and out. Poorly lighted at night. No reason for any traffic after dark.”

  “Sounds perfect,” One-Eye said.

  “It is. I rented a room overlooking it.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Elmo said. We all suffered from cabin fever. An exodus started. Only Soulcatcher stayed put. Perhaps he understood our need to get away.

  Goblin was right about the square, apparently. “So what?” I asked. One-Eye grinned. I snapped, “Clam-lips! Play games.”

  “Tonight?” Goblin asked.

  One-Eye nodded. “If the old spook says go.”

  “I’m getting frustrated, “ I announced. “What’s going on? All you clowns do is play cards and watch Raven sharpen his knives.” That went on for hours at a time, the movement of whetstone across steel sending chills down my spine. It was an omen. Raven does not do that unless he expects the situation to get nasty.