I raised my head
carefully to peer over the edge of the plain at the Land of Unknown
Shadows. Willow Swan snaked up on my right. He did the same.
Riverwalker copied him on my left. River said, “I’ll be
damned.”
I agreed. “No doubt about it. Doj. Gota. Come and look.
Will somebody bring One-Eye up?” The little man had started
talking about an hour ago. He did appear to be in touch with the
real world at least part of the time.
I beckoned the white crow. That darned thing was going to give
us away if it kept circling.
“To who?” Swan asked. “I don’t see
anybody.” Obviously, I was thinking out loud again. Swan
weaseled sideways so Doj could crawl up beside me.
Doj rose up. He froze. After fifteen seconds he harrumphed.
Gota said it. “Is the same place we left. You got us
turned around, you fool Stone Soldier.”
At first glimpse it was identical. Only, “Look to the
right. There isn’t any Overlook. And never was. And Kiaulune
isn’t the New City.” I never saw Kiaulune before it
became Shadowcatch but doubted these ruins resembled that old city
much, either. “Get Suvrin. He might know.”
I continued to stare. The more I did so, the more differences
stood out. Doj said it. “The hand of mankind rested more
lightly here. And men went away a long time ago.” It was only
the shape of the land that was identical.
“Back about the time of the earthquakes, you
suppose?” What would have been hardscrabble farmland in my
world here looked like better soil that had been abandoned for
twenty years. It was overgrown by brush and brambles and cedars but
no truly sizable trees were yet evident except those that grew in
orderly rows and those so distant they painted the foothills of the
Dandha Presh a deep green that was almost black.
Suvrin arrived. I offered a few questions. He told me, “It
does look like they say Kiaulune did before the Shadowmasters
came. When my grandparents were children. The city didn’t
start growing until Longshadow decided to build Overlook. Only, I
don’t see anything down there now but ruins.”
“Look at the shadowgate. It’s in better shape than
our own.” But not in good repair by any standard. The quakes
had taken their bites. “You can tell where it is.” That
was a weight off my shoulders. I had anticipated fighting
starvation while we fussed with strings and colored powders in an
effort to survey the only safe pathway through.
Several men carried One-Eye up and set him down amongst us. They
silhouetted themselves above the skyline doing so. My grumbling did
no good. On the other hand, no bloodthirsty hordes materialized
below the shadowgate, so it was possible that we were not yet
betrayed. “One-Eye. Do you sense anything down
there?”
I did not know if he would respond. He seemed to be asleep
again. His chin rested on his chest. People gave him room because
it was in these moments he began to ply his cane. After a few
seconds, though, he lifted his chin, opened his eyes, murmured,
“A place where I can rest.” The wind that was always
with us on the plain almost stole his words away. “A place
where all evil dies an endless death. No wickedness stirs down
there, Little Girl.”
One-Eye’s remarks excited everyone who had witnessed his
most recent episode. Half a dozen more men exposed their
silhouettes to anyone watching from below. Still others seemed to
think we ought to trudge right on down there in a big, disorderly
mob, right now.
“Kendo!” I called. “Slink! I want you each to
take six men out through the gate. Fully armed, including bamboo.
Slink, take the right side of the road. You take the left, Kendo.
You’ll be covering the rest of us as we come out. River,
you’re the reserve. Take ten men and wait just inside the
shadowgate. You’ll stay there and become the rear guard if
nothing bothers them.”
Training and discipline took over. A superior standard of both
are among the Company’s most potent tools. Properly employed,
they become our deadliest tools. We try to inculcate discipline
from a recruit’s first day, right alongside a healthy
distrust of everyone on the outside. We try to pound into his very
bones what he needs to do in every situation.
The slope from the edge of the plain to the shadowgate seemed to
stretch for miles. I felt bone-naked descending it without the
standard. Tobo, carrying the golden pickax, had to take my place. I
told him, “Don’t get too fond of the job, kid. It may
be all I have if we get the Captain and the Lieutenant back. And I
won’t even have that if your dad wants all of his old jobs
back.”
Experiment quickly proved no key but the pick was needed to
leave the plain. The shadowgate did tickle and tingle, though.
The first thing I noticed outside was a powerful mixture of
sagey and piney smells. There had been few odors on the plain. Then
I noticed the incredible warmth. This world was much warmer than
the plain was. It was early autumn
here . . . as promised, Willow. As
promised.
Kendo and Slink kept their squads moving, screening our advance.
More and more people passed through the gate. I got myself hoisted
onto the black stallion so I could see better. Which meant that
somebody had to carry One-Eye. I told Sahra, “Let’s
head for those ruins.” I was about to add something about
shelter being easier to find there when Kendo Cutter shouted.
I looked where he pointed. It took a sharp eye to see them. The
old men coming uphill slowly wore robes almost exactly the same
color as the road and the earth behind them. There were five of
them. They were bent and moved slowly.
“We did give ourselves away up there. And somebody was
watching. Doj!”
Waste of breath. The Swordmaster was headed downhill already.
Tobo and Gota were right behind him, which did nothing for
Sahra’s nerves. I rushed forward, caught the boy. “You
stay back.”
“But, Sleepy!”
“You want to debate it with Runmust and Iqbal?” He
did not want to argue with the large Shadar gentlemen. I did not
want to argue with the Troll. I let her go. She might be more
intimidating than Doj, anyway. He was just one old man with a
sword. She was a vicious old woman with a virulent tongue.
I checked my battered old shortsword. That was going to perform
wonders if they climbed over Uncle Doj. Then I headed downhill
myself. Sahra accompanied me.
The old men in brown looked at Doj and Gota. Doj and Gota looked
at them. Those five men looked like they had been cast in the same
mold, being nearly as wide as they were tall and very long in the
tooth.
One of the natives said something rapid in a liquid tongue. The
cadence was unusual but the words sounded vaguely familiar. I did
catch the phrase “Children of the Dead.” Doj replied at
length in Nyueng Bao, which included the formulas “The Land
of Unknown Shadows” and “All Evil Dies There an Endless
Death.” The old men seemed hugely puzzled by Doj’s
accent but recognized those phrases well enough to become visibly
agitated. I could not tell if that was a positive sign or not.
Mother Gota began muttering the incantation that included
“Calling the Heaven and the Earth and the Day and the
Night,” and that excited the old men even more.
Sahra told me, “Evidently the language has changed a great
deal since the Children of the Dead ran away.”
It took me a moment to understand that she was translating what
Doj had said in an aside to Gota.
There was a stream of chatter from the old men, all apparently
in the form of pointed questions that Doj could not answer.
Sahra said, “They seem to be extremely worried about
someone they keep calling ‘that devil-dog Merika
Montera.’ Also about a pupil of this monster, a supposed
future Grandmaster. Apparently the two were driven into exile
together.”
“Merika Montera would be Longshadow. We know there was a
time when he used the name Maricha Manthara Dhumraksha. He sent an
agent named Ashutosh Yaksha to live among the Nyueng Bao in an
effort to find and steal the Key that we’ve brought with us.
The golden pickax.”
Uncle Doj chided, “Sleepy, these old men don’t speak
Taglian or Dejagoran, but there’s still a chance that they
might recognize our version of names they fear and hate just a
whole hell of a lot. Right now they’re clamoring for answers
about one Achoes Tosiak-shah. It sounds like Longshadow and
Shadowspinner, before they were exiled, were the last of a race of
outsider sorcerers who enslaved these people’s forefathers—through their ability to manipulate killer shadows they summoned
from the plain.”
“Wouldn’t you know? They brought their business with
them. Tell these guys whatever they need to know. Tell them the
truth. Tell them who we are and what we intend to do. And what
we’ve already done to their buddies Longshadow and
Shadowspinner.”
“We might be wise to find out a little more about them
before we become completely candid.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to break any lifetime
habits.”
Doj nodded slightly, betraying the slightest smile.
He faced the old men and began talking. I found that my Nyueng Bao
was improving. I had no trouble isolating “Stone
Soldiers” and “Soldiers of Darkness” in his
monologue. Native faces kept turning my way, always more
surprised.
Sahra told me, “They’re monks of some sort.
They’ve been watching for a long time. Watching is what their
order does. In case the Shadowmasters try to return. They did not
expect anyone to come for real.”
“They especially didn’t expect women, eh?”
“That amazes them. And Swan worries them. Their
ancestors’ experiences with white devils were not
positive.” Then, of course, the white crow swooped and landed
on my shoulder. And the great black stallion, with its prune of a
rider, came down to stick its nose in. And as the chatter picked
up, still well-seasoned with “Stone Soldier” and
“Soldier of Darkness” and “Steadfast
Guardian,” the rest of the band drifted forward, impelled by
curiosity. First thing I knew, Tobo was right there beside me,
along with Runmust, Iqbal and Suruvhija and all their offspring,
the dog, and ever-increasing jabber about what should we do with
the Captured, where were we going to set up
camp . . .
“You hearing these
questions?” I asked Doj.
“I hear them. I think
we’re going to be granted this whole valley. For the time
being. While they send messages to the Court of All Seasons and the
File of Nine. We’ll have more important visitors eventually.
Until then—as I understand them—we can set down anywhere we want.
The dialect is a little tricky, though, so be careful.”
Dozens of veteran eyes scanned the valley for defensible
positions. It took no effort to identify them. They were the same
as those we recalled from the Kiaulune wars.
I wondered if all the connected worlds would be equally familiar
physically.
I indicated my choice. No one demurred. Runmust and the Singhs
hurried off to survey the site, accompanied by a dozen men armed
for anything. The five old monks did not protest. Mostly they
seemed bemused and amazed.
So it was that the Black Company reached the Land of Unknown
Shadows instead of fabled Khatovar. There it was that the Company
settled and rested and recovered. There it was that I filled book
after book with words when I was not planning or leading
expeditions to rescue the rest of my captured brothers, and even
that devil-dog Merika Montera so he would be available for another,
rather less pleasant encounter with justice than the one that had
driven him into exile. The grandchildren of his former slaves
feared him not at all.
I won him a stay, at Lady’s request, so he could help with
Tobo’s schooling. The stay was good for as long as he did
that job satisfactorily and not for a moment more. The old monks,
as tight of lip as their cousin Doj, agreed that Tobo had to be
trained but would not reveal their reasoning even to me.
At one time the Land of the Unknown Shadows had suffered many
lean, pale bonesacks just like Longshadow. They were invaders from
another world. They had brought no wives with them. Time did not
love them.
And thus it was. And thus it was.
Soldiers live. And wonder why.
One-Eye survived another four years, suffering strokes, yet
recovering slowly every time. Seldom did he leave the house we
built for him and Gota. Mostly he tinkered with his black spear
while Gota hovered around and fussed. He fussed right back and
never stopped worrying about Tobo’s education.
Once again Tobo was smothered in parents both real and
surrogate.
He studied with One-Eye, he studied with Lady, he studied with
Longshadow and Master Santaraksita, with the Radisha and the
Prahbrindrah Drah, and with the masters of our adoptive world. He
studied hard and well and much, much more than he wanted. He was
very talented. He was what his great-grandmother Hong Tray had
foreseen.
The Captured all returned to us, except for those who died
beneath the plain, but even the best of them—Murgen, Lady, the
Captain—were strange and deeply changed. Fey. But we were changed
as well, by life, so that those of us they remembered at all were
almost alien to them.
A new order came into being.
It had to be.
Someday we will cross the plain again.
Water sleeps.
For now, I just rest. And indulge myself in writing, in
remembering the fallen, in considering the strange twists life
takes, in considering what plan God must have if the good are
condemned to die young while the wicked prosper, if righteous men
can commit deep evil while bad men demonstrate unexpected streaks
of humanity.
Soldiers live. And wonder why.
I raised my head
carefully to peer over the edge of the plain at the Land of Unknown
Shadows. Willow Swan snaked up on my right. He did the same.
Riverwalker copied him on my left. River said, “I’ll be
damned.”
I agreed. “No doubt about it. Doj. Gota. Come and look.
Will somebody bring One-Eye up?” The little man had started
talking about an hour ago. He did appear to be in touch with the
real world at least part of the time.
I beckoned the white crow. That darned thing was going to give
us away if it kept circling.
“To who?” Swan asked. “I don’t see
anybody.” Obviously, I was thinking out loud again. Swan
weaseled sideways so Doj could crawl up beside me.
Doj rose up. He froze. After fifteen seconds he harrumphed.
Gota said it. “Is the same place we left. You got us
turned around, you fool Stone Soldier.”
At first glimpse it was identical. Only, “Look to the
right. There isn’t any Overlook. And never was. And Kiaulune
isn’t the New City.” I never saw Kiaulune before it
became Shadowcatch but doubted these ruins resembled that old city
much, either. “Get Suvrin. He might know.”
I continued to stare. The more I did so, the more differences
stood out. Doj said it. “The hand of mankind rested more
lightly here. And men went away a long time ago.” It was only
the shape of the land that was identical.
“Back about the time of the earthquakes, you
suppose?” What would have been hardscrabble farmland in my
world here looked like better soil that had been abandoned for
twenty years. It was overgrown by brush and brambles and cedars but
no truly sizable trees were yet evident except those that grew in
orderly rows and those so distant they painted the foothills of the
Dandha Presh a deep green that was almost black.
Suvrin arrived. I offered a few questions. He told me, “It
does look like they say Kiaulune did before the Shadowmasters
came. When my grandparents were children. The city didn’t
start growing until Longshadow decided to build Overlook. Only, I
don’t see anything down there now but ruins.”
“Look at the shadowgate. It’s in better shape than
our own.” But not in good repair by any standard. The quakes
had taken their bites. “You can tell where it is.” That
was a weight off my shoulders. I had anticipated fighting
starvation while we fussed with strings and colored powders in an
effort to survey the only safe pathway through.
Several men carried One-Eye up and set him down amongst us. They
silhouetted themselves above the skyline doing so. My grumbling did
no good. On the other hand, no bloodthirsty hordes materialized
below the shadowgate, so it was possible that we were not yet
betrayed. “One-Eye. Do you sense anything down
there?”
I did not know if he would respond. He seemed to be asleep
again. His chin rested on his chest. People gave him room because
it was in these moments he began to ply his cane. After a few
seconds, though, he lifted his chin, opened his eyes, murmured,
“A place where I can rest.” The wind that was always
with us on the plain almost stole his words away. “A place
where all evil dies an endless death. No wickedness stirs down
there, Little Girl.”
One-Eye’s remarks excited everyone who had witnessed his
most recent episode. Half a dozen more men exposed their
silhouettes to anyone watching from below. Still others seemed to
think we ought to trudge right on down there in a big, disorderly
mob, right now.
“Kendo!” I called. “Slink! I want you each to
take six men out through the gate. Fully armed, including bamboo.
Slink, take the right side of the road. You take the left, Kendo.
You’ll be covering the rest of us as we come out. River,
you’re the reserve. Take ten men and wait just inside the
shadowgate. You’ll stay there and become the rear guard if
nothing bothers them.”
Training and discipline took over. A superior standard of both
are among the Company’s most potent tools. Properly employed,
they become our deadliest tools. We try to inculcate discipline
from a recruit’s first day, right alongside a healthy
distrust of everyone on the outside. We try to pound into his very
bones what he needs to do in every situation.
The slope from the edge of the plain to the shadowgate seemed to
stretch for miles. I felt bone-naked descending it without the
standard. Tobo, carrying the golden pickax, had to take my place. I
told him, “Don’t get too fond of the job, kid. It may
be all I have if we get the Captain and the Lieutenant back. And I
won’t even have that if your dad wants all of his old jobs
back.”
Experiment quickly proved no key but the pick was needed to
leave the plain. The shadowgate did tickle and tingle, though.
The first thing I noticed outside was a powerful mixture of
sagey and piney smells. There had been few odors on the plain. Then
I noticed the incredible warmth. This world was much warmer than
the plain was. It was early autumn
here . . . as promised, Willow. As
promised.
Kendo and Slink kept their squads moving, screening our advance.
More and more people passed through the gate. I got myself hoisted
onto the black stallion so I could see better. Which meant that
somebody had to carry One-Eye. I told Sahra, “Let’s
head for those ruins.” I was about to add something about
shelter being easier to find there when Kendo Cutter shouted.
I looked where he pointed. It took a sharp eye to see them. The
old men coming uphill slowly wore robes almost exactly the same
color as the road and the earth behind them. There were five of
them. They were bent and moved slowly.
“We did give ourselves away up there. And somebody was
watching. Doj!”
Waste of breath. The Swordmaster was headed downhill already.
Tobo and Gota were right behind him, which did nothing for
Sahra’s nerves. I rushed forward, caught the boy. “You
stay back.”
“But, Sleepy!”
“You want to debate it with Runmust and Iqbal?” He
did not want to argue with the large Shadar gentlemen. I did not
want to argue with the Troll. I let her go. She might be more
intimidating than Doj, anyway. He was just one old man with a
sword. She was a vicious old woman with a virulent tongue.
I checked my battered old shortsword. That was going to perform
wonders if they climbed over Uncle Doj. Then I headed downhill
myself. Sahra accompanied me.
The old men in brown looked at Doj and Gota. Doj and Gota looked
at them. Those five men looked like they had been cast in the same
mold, being nearly as wide as they were tall and very long in the
tooth.
One of the natives said something rapid in a liquid tongue. The
cadence was unusual but the words sounded vaguely familiar. I did
catch the phrase “Children of the Dead.” Doj replied at
length in Nyueng Bao, which included the formulas “The Land
of Unknown Shadows” and “All Evil Dies There an Endless
Death.” The old men seemed hugely puzzled by Doj’s
accent but recognized those phrases well enough to become visibly
agitated. I could not tell if that was a positive sign or not.
Mother Gota began muttering the incantation that included
“Calling the Heaven and the Earth and the Day and the
Night,” and that excited the old men even more.
Sahra told me, “Evidently the language has changed a great
deal since the Children of the Dead ran away.”
It took me a moment to understand that she was translating what
Doj had said in an aside to Gota.
There was a stream of chatter from the old men, all apparently
in the form of pointed questions that Doj could not answer.
Sahra said, “They seem to be extremely worried about
someone they keep calling ‘that devil-dog Merika
Montera.’ Also about a pupil of this monster, a supposed
future Grandmaster. Apparently the two were driven into exile
together.”
“Merika Montera would be Longshadow. We know there was a
time when he used the name Maricha Manthara Dhumraksha. He sent an
agent named Ashutosh Yaksha to live among the Nyueng Bao in an
effort to find and steal the Key that we’ve brought with us.
The golden pickax.”
Uncle Doj chided, “Sleepy, these old men don’t speak
Taglian or Dejagoran, but there’s still a chance that they
might recognize our version of names they fear and hate just a
whole hell of a lot. Right now they’re clamoring for answers
about one Achoes Tosiak-shah. It sounds like Longshadow and
Shadowspinner, before they were exiled, were the last of a race of
outsider sorcerers who enslaved these people’s forefathers—through their ability to manipulate killer shadows they summoned
from the plain.”
“Wouldn’t you know? They brought their business with
them. Tell these guys whatever they need to know. Tell them the
truth. Tell them who we are and what we intend to do. And what
we’ve already done to their buddies Longshadow and
Shadowspinner.”
“We might be wise to find out a little more about them
before we become completely candid.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to break any lifetime
habits.”
Doj nodded slightly, betraying the slightest smile.
He faced the old men and began talking. I found that my Nyueng Bao
was improving. I had no trouble isolating “Stone
Soldiers” and “Soldiers of Darkness” in his
monologue. Native faces kept turning my way, always more
surprised.
Sahra told me, “They’re monks of some sort.
They’ve been watching for a long time. Watching is what their
order does. In case the Shadowmasters try to return. They did not
expect anyone to come for real.”
“They especially didn’t expect women, eh?”
“That amazes them. And Swan worries them. Their
ancestors’ experiences with white devils were not
positive.” Then, of course, the white crow swooped and landed
on my shoulder. And the great black stallion, with its prune of a
rider, came down to stick its nose in. And as the chatter picked
up, still well-seasoned with “Stone Soldier” and
“Soldier of Darkness” and “Steadfast
Guardian,” the rest of the band drifted forward, impelled by
curiosity. First thing I knew, Tobo was right there beside me,
along with Runmust, Iqbal and Suruvhija and all their offspring,
the dog, and ever-increasing jabber about what should we do with
the Captured, where were we going to set up
camp . . .
“You hearing these
questions?” I asked Doj.
“I hear them. I think
we’re going to be granted this whole valley. For the time
being. While they send messages to the Court of All Seasons and the
File of Nine. We’ll have more important visitors eventually.
Until then—as I understand them—we can set down anywhere we want.
The dialect is a little tricky, though, so be careful.”
Dozens of veteran eyes scanned the valley for defensible
positions. It took no effort to identify them. They were the same
as those we recalled from the Kiaulune wars.
I wondered if all the connected worlds would be equally familiar
physically.
I indicated my choice. No one demurred. Runmust and the Singhs
hurried off to survey the site, accompanied by a dozen men armed
for anything. The five old monks did not protest. Mostly they
seemed bemused and amazed.
So it was that the Black Company reached the Land of Unknown
Shadows instead of fabled Khatovar. There it was that the Company
settled and rested and recovered. There it was that I filled book
after book with words when I was not planning or leading
expeditions to rescue the rest of my captured brothers, and even
that devil-dog Merika Montera so he would be available for another,
rather less pleasant encounter with justice than the one that had
driven him into exile. The grandchildren of his former slaves
feared him not at all.
I won him a stay, at Lady’s request, so he could help with
Tobo’s schooling. The stay was good for as long as he did
that job satisfactorily and not for a moment more. The old monks,
as tight of lip as their cousin Doj, agreed that Tobo had to be
trained but would not reveal their reasoning even to me.
At one time the Land of the Unknown Shadows had suffered many
lean, pale bonesacks just like Longshadow. They were invaders from
another world. They had brought no wives with them. Time did not
love them.
And thus it was. And thus it was.
Soldiers live. And wonder why.
One-Eye survived another four years, suffering strokes, yet
recovering slowly every time. Seldom did he leave the house we
built for him and Gota. Mostly he tinkered with his black spear
while Gota hovered around and fussed. He fussed right back and
never stopped worrying about Tobo’s education.
Once again Tobo was smothered in parents both real and
surrogate.
He studied with One-Eye, he studied with Lady, he studied with
Longshadow and Master Santaraksita, with the Radisha and the
Prahbrindrah Drah, and with the masters of our adoptive world. He
studied hard and well and much, much more than he wanted. He was
very talented. He was what his great-grandmother Hong Tray had
foreseen.
The Captured all returned to us, except for those who died
beneath the plain, but even the best of them—Murgen, Lady, the
Captain—were strange and deeply changed. Fey. But we were changed
as well, by life, so that those of us they remembered at all were
almost alien to them.
A new order came into being.
It had to be.
Someday we will cross the plain again.
Water sleeps.
For now, I just rest. And indulge myself in writing, in
remembering the fallen, in considering the strange twists life
takes, in considering what plan God must have if the good are
condemned to die young while the wicked prosper, if righteous men
can commit deep evil while bad men demonstrate unexpected streaks
of humanity.
Soldiers live. And wonder why.