For Corbie the unravelling came quickly now. When he kept his
mind on business. But more and more he became distracted by that
old silk map. Those strange old names. In TelleKurre they had a
ring absent in modern tongues. Soulcatcher. Stormbringer.
Moonbiter. The Hanged Man. They seemed so much more potent in the
old tongue.
But they were dead. The only great ones left were the Lady and
the monster who started it all, out there under the earth.
Often he went to a small window and stared toward the
Barrowland. The devil in the earth. Calling, perhaps. Surrounded by
lesser champions, few of them recalled in the legends and few the
old wizard identified. Bomanz had been interested only in the
Lady.
So many fetishes. And a dragon. And fallen champions of the
White Rose, their shades set to eternal guard duty. It seemed so
much more dramatic than the struggle today.
Corbie laughed. The past was always more interesting than the
present. For those who lived through the first great struggle it
must have seemed deadly slow, too. Only in the final battle were
the legends and legacies created. A few days out of decades.
He worked less now, now that he had a sound place to live and a
little saved. He spent more time wandering, especially by
night.
Case came calling one morning, before Corbie was fully wakened.
He allowed the youth inside. “Tea?”
“All right.”
“You’re nervous. What is it?”
“Colonel Sweet wants you.”
“Chess again? Or work?”
“Neither. He’s worried about your wandering around
at night. I told him I go with you and all you do is look at the
stars and stuff. Guess he’s getting paranoid.”
Corbie smiled a smile he did not feel. “Just doing his
job. Guess my life looks odd. Getting past it. Lost in my own mind.
Do I act senile sometimes? Here. Sugar?”
“Please.” Sugar was a treat. The Guard could not
provide it.
“Any rush? I haven’t eaten.”
“He didn’t put it that way.”
“Good.” More time to prepare. Fool. He should have
guessed his walks would attract attention. The Guard was paranoid
by design.
Corbie prepared oats and bacon, which he shared with Case. For
all they were well paid, the Guard ate poorly. Because of ongoing
foul weather the Oar road was all but impassable. The army
quartermasters strove valiantly but often could not get
through.
“Well, let’s see the man,” Corbie said. And:
“That’s the last bacon. The Colonel better think about
farming here, just in case.”
“They talked about it.” Corbie had befriended Case
partly because he served at headquarters. Colonel Sweet would play
chess and talk old times, but he never revealed any plans.
“And?”
“Not enough land. Not enough fodder.”
“Pigs. They get fat on acorns.”
“Need herdsmen. Else the tribemen would get
them.”
“I guess so.”
The Colonel ushered Corbie into his private quarters. Corbie
joked, “Don’t you ever work? Sir?”
“The operation runs itself. Been rolling four centuries,
that’s the way it goes. I have a problem. Corbie.”
Corbie grimaced. “Sir?”
“Appearances, Corbie. This is a world that lives by
perceptions. You aren’t presenting a proper
appearance.”
“Sir?”
“We had a visitor last month. From Charm.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Neither did anyone else. Except me. What you might call a
prolonged surprise inspection. They happen occasionally.”
Sweet settled behind his worktable, pushed aside the chess set over
which they had contested so often. He drew a long sheet of southern
paper from a cubby at his right knee. Corbie glimpsed printing in a
crabbed hand.
“Taken? Sir?”
Corbie never sirred anyone except as an afterthought. The habit
disturbed Sweet. “Yes. With the Lady’s carte blanche.
He did not abuse it. But he did make recommendations. And he did
mention people whose behavior he found unacceptable. Your name was
first on the list. What the hell are you doing, wandering around
all night?”
“Thinking. I can’t sleep. The war did something. The
things I saw . . . The guerrillas. You
don’t want to go to sleep because they might attack. If you
do sleep, you dream about the blood. Homes and fields burning.
Animals and children screaming. That was the worst. The babies
crying. I still hear the babies crying.” He exaggerated very
little. Each time he went to bed he had to get past the crying of
babes.
He told most of the truth and wound it into an imaginative lie.
Babies crying. The babies who haunted him were his own, innocents
abandoned in a moment of fear of commitment.
“I know,” Sweet replied. “I know. At Rust they
killed their children rather than let us capture them. The hardest
men in the regiment wept when they saw the mothers hurling their
infants down from the walls, then jumping after them. I never
married. I have no children. But I know what you mean. Did you have
any?”
“A son,” Corbie said, in a voice both soft and
strained, from a body almost shaking with pain. “And a
daughter. Twins, they were. Long ago and far away.”
“And what became of them?”
“I don’t know. I would hope they’re living
still. They would be about Case’s age.”
Sweet raised an eyebrow but let the remark slide past.
“And their mother?”
Corbie’s eyes became iron. Hot iron, like a brand.
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
Corbie did not respond. His expression suggested he was not
sorry himself.
“You understand what I’m saying, Corbie?”
Sweet asked. “You were noticed by one of the Taken.
That’s never healthy.”
“I get the message. Which was it?”
“I can’t say. Which of the Taken are where when
could be of interest to the Rebel.”
Corbie snorted. “What Rebel? We wiped them out at
Charm.”
“Perhaps. But there is that White Rose.”
“I thought they were going to get her?”
“Yeah. The stories you hear. Going to have her in chains
before the month is out. Been saying that since first we heard of
her. She’s light on her feet. Maybe light enough.”
Sweet’s smile faded. “At least I won’t be around
next time the comet comes. Brandy?”
“Yes.”
“Chess? Or do you have a job?”
“Not right away. I’ll go you one game.”
Halfway through, Sweet said, “Remember what I said.
Eh? The Taken claimed he was leaving. But there’s no
guarantee. Could be behind a bush someplace watching.”
“I’ll pay more attention to what I’m
doing.” He would. The last thing he wanted was a Taken
interested in him. He had come too far to waste himself now.
For Corbie the unravelling came quickly now. When he kept his
mind on business. But more and more he became distracted by that
old silk map. Those strange old names. In TelleKurre they had a
ring absent in modern tongues. Soulcatcher. Stormbringer.
Moonbiter. The Hanged Man. They seemed so much more potent in the
old tongue.
But they were dead. The only great ones left were the Lady and
the monster who started it all, out there under the earth.
Often he went to a small window and stared toward the
Barrowland. The devil in the earth. Calling, perhaps. Surrounded by
lesser champions, few of them recalled in the legends and few the
old wizard identified. Bomanz had been interested only in the
Lady.
So many fetishes. And a dragon. And fallen champions of the
White Rose, their shades set to eternal guard duty. It seemed so
much more dramatic than the struggle today.
Corbie laughed. The past was always more interesting than the
present. For those who lived through the first great struggle it
must have seemed deadly slow, too. Only in the final battle were
the legends and legacies created. A few days out of decades.
He worked less now, now that he had a sound place to live and a
little saved. He spent more time wandering, especially by
night.
Case came calling one morning, before Corbie was fully wakened.
He allowed the youth inside. “Tea?”
“All right.”
“You’re nervous. What is it?”
“Colonel Sweet wants you.”
“Chess again? Or work?”
“Neither. He’s worried about your wandering around
at night. I told him I go with you and all you do is look at the
stars and stuff. Guess he’s getting paranoid.”
Corbie smiled a smile he did not feel. “Just doing his
job. Guess my life looks odd. Getting past it. Lost in my own mind.
Do I act senile sometimes? Here. Sugar?”
“Please.” Sugar was a treat. The Guard could not
provide it.
“Any rush? I haven’t eaten.”
“He didn’t put it that way.”
“Good.” More time to prepare. Fool. He should have
guessed his walks would attract attention. The Guard was paranoid
by design.
Corbie prepared oats and bacon, which he shared with Case. For
all they were well paid, the Guard ate poorly. Because of ongoing
foul weather the Oar road was all but impassable. The army
quartermasters strove valiantly but often could not get
through.
“Well, let’s see the man,” Corbie said. And:
“That’s the last bacon. The Colonel better think about
farming here, just in case.”
“They talked about it.” Corbie had befriended Case
partly because he served at headquarters. Colonel Sweet would play
chess and talk old times, but he never revealed any plans.
“And?”
“Not enough land. Not enough fodder.”
“Pigs. They get fat on acorns.”
“Need herdsmen. Else the tribemen would get
them.”
“I guess so.”
The Colonel ushered Corbie into his private quarters. Corbie
joked, “Don’t you ever work? Sir?”
“The operation runs itself. Been rolling four centuries,
that’s the way it goes. I have a problem. Corbie.”
Corbie grimaced. “Sir?”
“Appearances, Corbie. This is a world that lives by
perceptions. You aren’t presenting a proper
appearance.”
“Sir?”
“We had a visitor last month. From Charm.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Neither did anyone else. Except me. What you might call a
prolonged surprise inspection. They happen occasionally.”
Sweet settled behind his worktable, pushed aside the chess set over
which they had contested so often. He drew a long sheet of southern
paper from a cubby at his right knee. Corbie glimpsed printing in a
crabbed hand.
“Taken? Sir?”
Corbie never sirred anyone except as an afterthought. The habit
disturbed Sweet. “Yes. With the Lady’s carte blanche.
He did not abuse it. But he did make recommendations. And he did
mention people whose behavior he found unacceptable. Your name was
first on the list. What the hell are you doing, wandering around
all night?”
“Thinking. I can’t sleep. The war did something. The
things I saw . . . The guerrillas. You
don’t want to go to sleep because they might attack. If you
do sleep, you dream about the blood. Homes and fields burning.
Animals and children screaming. That was the worst. The babies
crying. I still hear the babies crying.” He exaggerated very
little. Each time he went to bed he had to get past the crying of
babes.
He told most of the truth and wound it into an imaginative lie.
Babies crying. The babies who haunted him were his own, innocents
abandoned in a moment of fear of commitment.
“I know,” Sweet replied. “I know. At Rust they
killed their children rather than let us capture them. The hardest
men in the regiment wept when they saw the mothers hurling their
infants down from the walls, then jumping after them. I never
married. I have no children. But I know what you mean. Did you have
any?”
“A son,” Corbie said, in a voice both soft and
strained, from a body almost shaking with pain. “And a
daughter. Twins, they were. Long ago and far away.”
“And what became of them?”
“I don’t know. I would hope they’re living
still. They would be about Case’s age.”
Sweet raised an eyebrow but let the remark slide past.
“And their mother?”
Corbie’s eyes became iron. Hot iron, like a brand.
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
Corbie did not respond. His expression suggested he was not
sorry himself.
“You understand what I’m saying, Corbie?”
Sweet asked. “You were noticed by one of the Taken.
That’s never healthy.”
“I get the message. Which was it?”
“I can’t say. Which of the Taken are where when
could be of interest to the Rebel.”
Corbie snorted. “What Rebel? We wiped them out at
Charm.”
“Perhaps. But there is that White Rose.”
“I thought they were going to get her?”
“Yeah. The stories you hear. Going to have her in chains
before the month is out. Been saying that since first we heard of
her. She’s light on her feet. Maybe light enough.”
Sweet’s smile faded. “At least I won’t be around
next time the comet comes. Brandy?”
“Yes.”
“Chess? Or do you have a job?”
“Not right away. I’ll go you one game.”
Halfway through, Sweet said, “Remember what I said.
Eh? The Taken claimed he was leaving. But there’s no
guarantee. Could be behind a bush someplace watching.”
“I’ll pay more attention to what I’m
doing.” He would. The last thing he wanted was a Taken
interested in him. He had come too far to waste himself now.