It was dry in that
wicked temple but it never got warm. I do not believe a brushfire
could have routed the chill that inhabited that place, that gnawed
into your bones and soul like an ancient and ugly spiritual
rheumatism. Even Narayan Singh felt it. He hunched over the fire,
twitching, as though he expected a blow from behind at any minute.
He muttered something about his faith having been tested
enough.
I do not belong to an empathetic and compassionate brotherhood.
Those who offend us must look forward to moments of extreme
discomfort, should God in His magnanimity see fit to present us
with the opportunity to provide it. And our antipathy toward
Narayan Singh was so old it had become ritual. So it was not with
any commiseration that I told him, “We’re prepared to
make the exchange. Our First Book of the Dead for your
Key.”
His head came up. He stared at me directly, the true Narayan
behind the masked Narayan considering me coldly. Wariness took life
in the corners of his eyes. “How could—”
“Never mind. We have it. A swap was the deal. And
we’re ready to swap now.”
Calculation began to replace caution. I would have bet a
handsome sum he was assessing his chances of murdering us in our
sleep so he would not have to keep his side of the bargain.
“It would be, perhaps, a less elegant solution than mass
murder, Narayan, but why not just do the deal the way we
agreed?” I shivered. The temple seemed to be getting colder,
if that was possible. “In fact, I’ll give you a bonus.
Once you hand over the Key, you can go. Away. Free. As long as you
vow not to screw with the Black Company anymore.” A vow he
would make in an instant, I was sure, such vows being worth the
bark they are written on when they spring from the mouths of
Deceivers. Kina would not expect him to keep faith with an
unbeliever.
“A truly generous, offer, Annalist,” Singh replied.
Suspiciously. “Let me sleep on it.”
“By all means.” I snapped my fingers. Iqbal and
Runmust broke out the shackles. “Put the goatbells on him
tonight, too.” We had several of those, to go with several
goats. Once attached to Narayan’s shackles, they made a
racket whenever he moved. He was a stealthmaster, but not master
enough to keep the bells from betraying him. “But don’t
be surprised if I don’t feel as generous when light and
warmth return to the world. Darkness always comes, but the sun also
rises.”
I had my blanket around me already. I pulled it tighter and lay
down, squirmed a little in a vain attempt to get comfortable, then
fell into the sort of evil-haunted dreams apparently experienced by
anyone who passes the night in the Grove of Doom.
I was aware that I was dreaming. And I was familiar with the
dreamscapes, though I had never visited them myself. Both Lady and
Murgen had written about them. The visual elements did not trouble
me terribly. But nothing had prepared me for the stench, which was
the stink of thousand-week-old battlefields, worse than any stench
I remembered from the siege of Jaicur. Countless crows had come to
banquet there.
After a while I began to feel another presence, far off but
approaching, and I was afraid, not wanting to come face-to-face
with Narayan’s dreadful goddess. I wanted to run but did not
know how. Murgen had drawn upon years of experience when he eluded
Kina.
Then I realized I was not being stalked. This presence was not
inimical. In fact, it was more aware of me than I of it. It was
amused by my discomfort. Murgen? ’Tis I, my apprentice. I thought you ’d dream here
tonight. I was right. I like being right. It’s one of the
joys of bachelorhood I had forgotten until I became a haunt. I don’t think Sahra would appreciate— Of course not. Forget that. I don’t have time.
There’re things you should know and I won’t be able to
reach you again directly until you enter the dark roads on the
glittering plain. Listen.
I “listened.”
Life in Taglios was proceeding normally. The scandal at the
royal library and disappearance of the chief librarian had been
played into a major distraction by the Protector. Soulcatcher was
more interested in consolidating her position than in rooting out
remnants of the Black Company. After all these years she still did
not take us as seriously as we wanted. Or she was completely
confident that she could root us out and exterminate us any time
she felt like bothering.
That being a possibility, Murgen’s advice was sound. We
should keep moving fast while that option was available.
The best news was that Jaul Barundandi had shown an eager
willingness to attach himself to the cause in hopes of avenging his
wife. His initial assignment, to be carried out only if he was
confident he could manage without getting caught or leaving
evidence, was to penetrate the Protector’s quarters and
steal, destroy, or somehow incapacitate the magical carpets she had
stolen from the Howler. If those could be denied her, our position
would improve dramatically. He was also to recruit allies—without
telling them that he was helping the Black Company. The ancient
hysterical prejudice remained potent.
It sounded wonderful but I counted on nothing. Men driven solely
by a need for revenge are flawed tools at best. If he let the
obsession consume him, he would be lost to us before he could do
any of the quiet, long-term things that make an inside man such a
treasure.
The bad news was bad indeed.
The main party, traveling by water, had passed through the delta
and was now ascending the Naghir River, meaning it was way ahead of
us in terms of time still needed to reach the Shadowgate.
One-Eye had suffered a stroke two nights earlier, during a
drunken knock-down-drag-out with his best friend Goblin.
Death did not claim him. Goblin’s swift intercession had
prevented that. But now he suffered from a mild paralysis and the
sort of perplexing speech problems that sometimes come after a
stroke. The latter made it difficult for One-Eye to communicate to
Goblin what Goblin needed to know to cope with the problem. The
words One-Eye wanted to say or write were not the words that came
out.
A problem that is maddening enough for the ordinary Annalist,
coping only with time constraints and native stupidity.
You cannot prepare yourself enough. The inevitable is always a
shock when it lowers its evil wing.
As if responding to a great joke, the circling crows rattled
with dark, mocking laughter. The skulls in the bonefield grinned,
enjoying the grand joke, too.
There were more minor bits of news. Once Murgen exhausted his
store, I asked, Can you reach Slink if he’s here? Can you put
a thought into his empty head? Possibly. Try. With this.
My idea amused Murgen. He hurried off to haunt Slink’s
certain-to-be-strange dreams. The crows scattered, as though there
was nothing interesting keeping them around anymore.
I continued to people the place of nightmare, hoping I would not
become a regular, as had befallen Lady and Murgen. I wondered if
Lady still went there, making her interment that much more a
session in hell.
A crow landed high up in a barren tree, against the face of what
passed for a sun in that place. I could not distinguish it but it
seemed different from the other crows. Sister, sister. I am with you always.
Terror reached down inside me and squeezed my heart with a fist
of iron. I shot bolt upright. Panic and confusion swamped me as I
grabbed for my weapons.
Doj stared at me from beyond the fire.
“Nightmares?”
I shivered in the cold. “Yes.”
“They’re the bad side of staying here. But you can
learn to shut them out.”
“I know what to do about them. Get away from this
godforsaken place as soon as I can. Tomorrow. Early. Right after
the Deceiver turns over the Key and you authenticate it.”
I thought I heard faint crow laughter in the night outside.
It was dry in that
wicked temple but it never got warm. I do not believe a brushfire
could have routed the chill that inhabited that place, that gnawed
into your bones and soul like an ancient and ugly spiritual
rheumatism. Even Narayan Singh felt it. He hunched over the fire,
twitching, as though he expected a blow from behind at any minute.
He muttered something about his faith having been tested
enough.
I do not belong to an empathetic and compassionate brotherhood.
Those who offend us must look forward to moments of extreme
discomfort, should God in His magnanimity see fit to present us
with the opportunity to provide it. And our antipathy toward
Narayan Singh was so old it had become ritual. So it was not with
any commiseration that I told him, “We’re prepared to
make the exchange. Our First Book of the Dead for your
Key.”
His head came up. He stared at me directly, the true Narayan
behind the masked Narayan considering me coldly. Wariness took life
in the corners of his eyes. “How could—”
“Never mind. We have it. A swap was the deal. And
we’re ready to swap now.”
Calculation began to replace caution. I would have bet a
handsome sum he was assessing his chances of murdering us in our
sleep so he would not have to keep his side of the bargain.
“It would be, perhaps, a less elegant solution than mass
murder, Narayan, but why not just do the deal the way we
agreed?” I shivered. The temple seemed to be getting colder,
if that was possible. “In fact, I’ll give you a bonus.
Once you hand over the Key, you can go. Away. Free. As long as you
vow not to screw with the Black Company anymore.” A vow he
would make in an instant, I was sure, such vows being worth the
bark they are written on when they spring from the mouths of
Deceivers. Kina would not expect him to keep faith with an
unbeliever.
“A truly generous, offer, Annalist,” Singh replied.
Suspiciously. “Let me sleep on it.”
“By all means.” I snapped my fingers. Iqbal and
Runmust broke out the shackles. “Put the goatbells on him
tonight, too.” We had several of those, to go with several
goats. Once attached to Narayan’s shackles, they made a
racket whenever he moved. He was a stealthmaster, but not master
enough to keep the bells from betraying him. “But don’t
be surprised if I don’t feel as generous when light and
warmth return to the world. Darkness always comes, but the sun also
rises.”
I had my blanket around me already. I pulled it tighter and lay
down, squirmed a little in a vain attempt to get comfortable, then
fell into the sort of evil-haunted dreams apparently experienced by
anyone who passes the night in the Grove of Doom.
I was aware that I was dreaming. And I was familiar with the
dreamscapes, though I had never visited them myself. Both Lady and
Murgen had written about them. The visual elements did not trouble
me terribly. But nothing had prepared me for the stench, which was
the stink of thousand-week-old battlefields, worse than any stench
I remembered from the siege of Jaicur. Countless crows had come to
banquet there.
After a while I began to feel another presence, far off but
approaching, and I was afraid, not wanting to come face-to-face
with Narayan’s dreadful goddess. I wanted to run but did not
know how. Murgen had drawn upon years of experience when he eluded
Kina.
Then I realized I was not being stalked. This presence was not
inimical. In fact, it was more aware of me than I of it. It was
amused by my discomfort. Murgen? ’Tis I, my apprentice. I thought you ’d dream here
tonight. I was right. I like being right. It’s one of the
joys of bachelorhood I had forgotten until I became a haunt. I don’t think Sahra would appreciate— Of course not. Forget that. I don’t have time.
There’re things you should know and I won’t be able to
reach you again directly until you enter the dark roads on the
glittering plain. Listen.
I “listened.”
Life in Taglios was proceeding normally. The scandal at the
royal library and disappearance of the chief librarian had been
played into a major distraction by the Protector. Soulcatcher was
more interested in consolidating her position than in rooting out
remnants of the Black Company. After all these years she still did
not take us as seriously as we wanted. Or she was completely
confident that she could root us out and exterminate us any time
she felt like bothering.
That being a possibility, Murgen’s advice was sound. We
should keep moving fast while that option was available.
The best news was that Jaul Barundandi had shown an eager
willingness to attach himself to the cause in hopes of avenging his
wife. His initial assignment, to be carried out only if he was
confident he could manage without getting caught or leaving
evidence, was to penetrate the Protector’s quarters and
steal, destroy, or somehow incapacitate the magical carpets she had
stolen from the Howler. If those could be denied her, our position
would improve dramatically. He was also to recruit allies—without
telling them that he was helping the Black Company. The ancient
hysterical prejudice remained potent.
It sounded wonderful but I counted on nothing. Men driven solely
by a need for revenge are flawed tools at best. If he let the
obsession consume him, he would be lost to us before he could do
any of the quiet, long-term things that make an inside man such a
treasure.
The bad news was bad indeed.
The main party, traveling by water, had passed through the delta
and was now ascending the Naghir River, meaning it was way ahead of
us in terms of time still needed to reach the Shadowgate.
One-Eye had suffered a stroke two nights earlier, during a
drunken knock-down-drag-out with his best friend Goblin.
Death did not claim him. Goblin’s swift intercession had
prevented that. But now he suffered from a mild paralysis and the
sort of perplexing speech problems that sometimes come after a
stroke. The latter made it difficult for One-Eye to communicate to
Goblin what Goblin needed to know to cope with the problem. The
words One-Eye wanted to say or write were not the words that came
out.
A problem that is maddening enough for the ordinary Annalist,
coping only with time constraints and native stupidity.
You cannot prepare yourself enough. The inevitable is always a
shock when it lowers its evil wing.
As if responding to a great joke, the circling crows rattled
with dark, mocking laughter. The skulls in the bonefield grinned,
enjoying the grand joke, too.
There were more minor bits of news. Once Murgen exhausted his
store, I asked, Can you reach Slink if he’s here? Can you put
a thought into his empty head? Possibly. Try. With this.
My idea amused Murgen. He hurried off to haunt Slink’s
certain-to-be-strange dreams. The crows scattered, as though there
was nothing interesting keeping them around anymore.
I continued to people the place of nightmare, hoping I would not
become a regular, as had befallen Lady and Murgen. I wondered if
Lady still went there, making her interment that much more a
session in hell.
A crow landed high up in a barren tree, against the face of what
passed for a sun in that place. I could not distinguish it but it
seemed different from the other crows. Sister, sister. I am with you always.
Terror reached down inside me and squeezed my heart with a fist
of iron. I shot bolt upright. Panic and confusion swamped me as I
grabbed for my weapons.
Doj stared at me from beyond the fire.
“Nightmares?”
I shivered in the cold. “Yes.”
“They’re the bad side of staying here. But you can
learn to shut them out.”
“I know what to do about them. Get away from this
godforsaken place as soon as I can. Tomorrow. Early. Right after
the Deceiver turns over the Key and you authenticate it.”
I thought I heard faint crow laughter in the night outside.