Bleak Seasons

Black Company GS 6 - Black Seasons

. . . fragments . . .

. . . just blackened fragments, crumbling between my fingers.

Browned page corners that reveal half a dozen words in a crabbed hand, their
context no longer known.

All that remains of two volumes of the Annals. A thousand hours of labor. Four
years of history. Gone forever.

Or are they? I do not want to go back. I do not want to relive the horror. I do
not want to reclaim the pain. There is pain too deep to withstand right here,

right now. There is no way to recapture the totality of that awfulness, anyway.

The mind and heart, safely over to the farther shore, simply refuse to encompass
the enormity of the voyage.

And there is no time. There is a war on.

Always there is a war on.

Uncle Doj wants something. Just as well to stop now. Teardrops make the ink run.

He is going to make me drink some strange philtre.

Fragments . . .

. . . all around, fragments of my work, my life, my love and my pain, scattered
in this bleak season . . .

And in the darkness, shards of time.

Hey, there! Welcome to the city of the dead. Don’t mind those guys staring.

Ghosts don’t see a lot of strangers, at least of a friendly persuasion. You’re
right. They do look hungry. That happens during these siege things.

Try not to look too much like a lamb roast.

Think that’s a joke? Stay away from the Nar.

Welcome to Dejagore, what the Taglians call this deathtrap. The teeny brown
Shadowlanders the Black Company grabbed it from call it Stormgard. People who
actually live here always called it Jaicur even when that was a crime. And who
knows what the Nyueng Bao call it. And who cares, eh? They aren’t talking and
they aren’t part of the equation anyway.

That’s one of them. That rascal there, no meat on him and a skull face.

Everybody around here is some shade of brown but theirs is different. It has a
grey cast to it. Almost deathly. You won’t mistake a Nyueng Bao for anything
else.

Their eyes are like polished coal no fire will ever warm.

That noise?

Sounds like Mogaba, the Nar and the First Legion rooting out Shadowlanders
again. Some get inside almost every night. They are like field mice. You just
can’t get rid of them all.

Found some the other day that had been in hiding since the Company took the
city.

How about that smell out there? It was worse before the Shadowlanders started
burying the bodies. Maybe a shovel was a little too complicated a machine.

Those long mounds that radiate from the city like spokes have corpses stacked
like cordwood inside. Sometimes they didn’t pile the dirt on deep enough and the
gasses of corruption burst the mounds open. That’s when you hope the wind is
blowing their way.

You see how positively they are thinking, all the not-yet-filled-trenches they
are digging. A lot of the dirt goes into the ramps.

The elephants are the worst. They take forever to rot. They tried burning them
once, but all that did was irritate the buzzards. So where they could they just
dragged the bodies over and incorporated them into their ramps.

Who? The ugly little guy with the uglier hat? That is One-Eye. You must have
been warned about him.

How come One-Eye? On account of the eye patch. Clever, huh?

The other runt is Goblin. You should have been warned about him, too. No? Well,

stay out of their way. All the time is best, but especially if they are arguing,

and most particularly if they have been drinking. As wizards go they are no
earthshakers but they are more than you will be able to handle.

Puny as they are, they are the main reason the Shadowlanders have stayed out
there in the country roughing it, leaving the wallowable luxuries of the city to
the Taglian troops and Black Company.

No, now pay attention. Goblin is the white one. All right, you’re right, he is
overdue for his annual bath. Goblin is the one who looks like a toad. One-Eye is
the one with the hat and the patch.

The guys in the once-upon-a-time-they-were-white tunics are Taglian soldiers.

Every day now every one of them asks himself what damned fool notion made him
enroll in the legions.

The folks wearing the colored sheets and unhappy expressions are locals.

Jaicuri.

Fancy this. When the Company and the legions swooped down from the north and
surprised Stormshadow they hailed the newcomers as liberators. They strew the
streets with rose petals and favorite daughters.

Now the only reason they don’t stab their liberators in the back is that the
alternative is worse. Now they are alive enough to starve and be abused.

Shadowspinner is not famous for kindness and kissing babies.

The kids all over? Those almost happy and fat urchins? Nyueng Bao. All Nyueng
Bao.

The Jaicuri nearly stopped making babies after the Shadowmasters came. Most of
the few that were born failed to survive the hard times since. The handful still
breathing are protected more fiercely than any treasure. You won’t find them
running naked through the streets, squealing and totally ignoring strangers.

Who are the Nyueng Bao? You never heard of them?

It is a good question. And a hard one to answer.

The Nyueng Bao don’t talk to outsiders except through their Speaker but the word
is that they are religious pilgrims who were on the homeward leg of a
once-in-a-generation hadj who got trapped by circumstance. The Taglian soldiers
say they hail from vast river delta swamps west of Taglios. They are a
primitive, minuscule minority abhorred by the majority Gunni, Vehdna, and Shadar
religions.

The whole Nyueng Bao people makes the pilgrimage. And the whole people got
caught right in the deep shit here in Dejagore.

They need to work on their timing. Or they should sharpen their skills at
appeasing their gods.

The Black Company cut a deal with the Nyueng Bao. Goblin and their Speaker
gobbled for half an hour and it was settled. The Nyueng Bao would ignore the
Black Company and Taglians for whom the Company is responsible. The Nyueng Bao
would be ignored in turn.

It works. Mostly.

Their men are a sort you don’t want to upset. They don’t take shit from anybody.

They never start anything except, according to the Taglians, by being too damned
stubborn to do what they are told.

Sounds like One-Eye style reasoning at work there.

Just kick those crows. They’re getting too goddamn bold! Think they own the
place . . . Hey! You got one. Grab it! They aren’t good eating but they are a
sight better than no eating at all.

Shit. Got away. Hell, that happens. Head for the citadel. You get your best look
at the layout from up there.

Those guys? They are Company. Never guess, huh? White guys down here? The one
with the wild hair is Big Bucket. He turned into a pretty fair sergeant. He is
just crazy enough. With him are Otto and Hagop. They have been around longer
than anybody but Goblin and One-Eye. Those two have been Old Crew for
generations. One-Eye ought to be sneaking up on two hundred.

That bunch is Company, too. Shirking work. The antique lunger is Wheezer. Not
much good for anything. How he got through the big brawl no one knows. They say
he busted heads with the best of them.

The other two black guys are the Geek and the Freak. No telling why. Nothing
wrong with them. Look like a couple of rubbed ebony statues, don’t they?

You think these names just come out of a hat? They earn them the hard way.

Usually they come out from under One-Eye’s hat, really. Yeah, they probably have
real names. But they have been called by nicknames so long even they have
trouble remembering.

Goblin and One-Eye are the main ones not to forget. And to remember not to put
behind you. They do not deal well with temptation.

This is Glimmers Like Dewdrops Street. Nobody knows why. A real mouthful, right?

You ought to hear it in Jaicuri. A jawbreaker. This is the route the Company
took coming in to snatch the tower. Maybe they will rename it Runs With Blood
Street.

Yeah, the Company charged through here in the heart of the night, killing
anything that moved, and jammed in there before they had any idea what was
happening. With Shapeshifter’s help they roared on up the tower where they let
him help finish off Stormshadow before they tagged him.

It was an old Company grudge. They owed Shifter from another generation, when
Shifter, helping Soulcatcher break the city’s resistance, murdered One-Eye’s
brother Tom-Tom when the Company was in service to the Syndic of Beryl. Croaker,

One-Eye and Goblin, Otto and Hagop are the only guys left from those days. Hell,

Croaker is gone now. Isn’t he? History-worshipping slob is buried out there in
one of those mounds. Fertilizing the plain. Mogaba is the Old Man now. Sort of,

in his own mind.

Those who form it come and go but the Company is forever. Every brother, great
or small, is a snack just not yet snapped up by the devouring maw of time.

Those big black monster men watching the gate are the Nar. They are descendants
of the Black Company of centuries ago. Scary beasts, aren’t they? Mogaba and a
whole herd of his pals joined the Company quest at Gea-Xle. The Old Crew have
had no pleasure of them.

You mix the whole crowd up and squeeze them dry, you could not come up with two
ounces of sense of humor.

There used to be a lot more of them than there are now but they keep getting
themselves killed. They are bone crazy, the whole lot. For them the Company is a
religion. Only their Company is not the Black Company of the Old Crew. That
becomes more apparent almost by the hour.

All Nar stand more than six feet tall. All Nar run like the wind and leap like
gazelles. Mogaba chose only the most athletic and warriorly to join the quest
for Khatovar. All the Nar are quick as cats and strong as gorillas. All the Nar
use their weapons like they were born with them in their hands.

The rest? The ones who call themselves the Old Crew? Yeah. It is true. The
Company is more than a job. If it was just a job, just selling swords to whoever
would pay, the Black Company would not be in this part of the world. There was
work a plenty in the north. The world never lacks for potentates who want to
bully their subjects or neighbors.

The Company is family for those who belong. The Company is home. The Company is
a nation of outcasts, alone and defying the whole world.

Now the Company is trying to complete its cycle of life. It is on a quest in
search of its birthplace, fabled Khatovar. But all the world seems determined
that Khatovar shall be unattainable, a virgin forever hidden behind a veil of
shadow.

The Company is home, sure, but Croaker was the only one who ever went completely
misty-eyed over that damned angle.

For him the Black Company was a mystery cult though he never went as far as
Mogaba and made it a holy calling.

Watch your step. They still don’t have all the mess cleaned out from the last
attack. If you couldn’t tell by the smell. The Jaicuri don’t help much anymore.

Maybe it is lack of civic pride.

The Nyueng Bao? They are just here. They stay out of the way. They have this
notion that they can stay neutral. They will learn. Shadowspinner is going to
teach them. Nobody stays neutral in this world. The best you can do is choose
your spot to jump in.

Little out of shape? You will come around. A few weeks running hither and yon,

blunting Shadowspinner’s probes and hustling out on Mogaba’s spoiling raids,

will get you as sharp as a Nyueng Bao sword.

You thought sieges were all just laying around relaxing and waiting the other
guy out?

Man, this other guy is a foamy mouth lunatic.

And not just nuts. He is a sorcerer. A major player, though he hasn’t shown much
here. Before the Old Man got himself offed in the big slugfest that trapped
everyone here he hurt Spinner real bad. The old devil just hasn’t been himself
since. Poor baby.

This is it. Top of the tower. And there is the whole stinking burg, laid out
like it is on one of those sand tables Lady always liked.

Oh, yeah. Those rumors have made it here, too. They started with some
Shadowlander prisoners. Maybe that was Kina up north. Or something. But it could
not have been Lady. She died right out there. Fifty guys saw her taken down.

Half of them got killed trying to rescue her.

How can you say that? You can’t be sure? How many eyewitnesses does it take? She
is dead. The Old Man is dead. They’re all dead, them what did not get inside
before Mogaba sealed the gates.

The whole mob is dead. All but the crowd in here. And they are caught between
lunatics. It’s a tossup who is crazier, Mogaba or Shadowspinner.

You see it all? That is it. Dejagore enduring the siege of the Shadowmasters.

Not real impressive, is it? But every one of those burned areas memorializes a
ferocious hand to hand, house to house negotiation with the Shadowlanders.

Fires start easily in Dejagore.

Hell is supposed to be hot, isn’t it?