Bleak Seasons (15 page)

Uncle Doj materialized. The Speaker told me, “Perhaps we misjudge you. Even I
allow prejudice to guide me at times. There is a chance I will know better when
next we speak.”

Uncle Doj made a small gesture. Time for me to leave.

Goblin caught me hitting the Jaicuri books. “Murgen!” I started. “Huh?”

“About goddamn time.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

“I been standing here watching you for ten minutes. You never turned a page. You
never blinked an eye. I couldn’t tell if you was breathing.”

I started to make an excuse.

“Won’t sell. I had to yell four times and slap you on the back of the head to
get your attention.”

“So I was thinking.” Only I could not recall even one thought.

“Yeah. Right. Mogaba wants your scrawny ass over to the citadel.”

“A lot of southerners have sneaked off to meet this relief column,” I told
Mogaba. “At first I thought they were trying to trick us. Pull back and hit us
when we tried to take advantage. But Goblin and One-Eye promise me they’ve just
kept going. There can’t be a relief army, though. Where would the soldiers come
from? Who would lead them?” Would Mogaba believe that I had not heard the more
interesting rumors? He heard more than I did. And Croaker’s survival probably
figured in a lot of those.

What would he do if the Old Man turned up alive?

I was pretty sure Mogaba thought about that a lot.

I was thanked and told to return to my people with no other comment. I did not
find out why he sent for me.

Mogaba did just what I feared. He launched a recon in force, maybe trying to
find new weak spots. He employed only his own most trustworthy men. And I was
content to sit atop my part of the wall, watching. And wondering why Mogaba was
so sure we would desert if we got outside.

I tend to ignore Mogaba here. He was a much greater part of everyday life than I
show. He was misery on the hoof. My dislike makes it impossible to write about
the man rationally so I discuss him only when I must.

Of all the Nar, in those days, only Sindawe ever made the effort to be civil.

Anyway, Mogaba thought he had a chance to hurt the Shadowmaster but the planners
outside were getting the hang of how his head worked. He did not let a lack of
success discourage him. There was that about Mogaba. He never became
discouraged. No setback ever shook his conviction that he was invincible. If his
plans fizzled he just recalculated.

Mogaba’s soldiers began to desert without benefit of escape from the city,

coming to hide out with friends among our Taglians. They complained that Mogaba
was too profligate with soldiers’ lives.

Mogaba responded by ordering special rations and preferential access to
prostitutes for his most dedicated men.

We found those sealed jars of grain left over from the Shadowmasters’ first
siege. Whether to share generated considerable debate. One-Eye insisted that
Mogaba would not be satisfied just to share. He would want to know all about our
find. He would want to see for himself. Did we want him wandering around our
warrens?

No.

So what does the little shit do? He turns right around and starts selling
fresh-baked bread for twenty times what a loaf cost before the siege.

I found a nice quiet spot for just One-Eye and me, atop the wall on a lazy
afternoon. There were fresh rumors of a battle up north but that was not our
topic. I asked, “What did you tell me about why we shouldn’t let Mogaba share
the stores we found?”

“Huh?” This was not the hassle he expected.

“You were extremely persuasive. All that stuff about not letting the man get
into our hideout.”

He grinned, proud of himself. “So?”

“You stand by what you said?”

“Sure.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing selling his men bread when we’re not supposed
to have no grain to grind for flour?”

He frowned. The connection eluded him. “Making a profit?”

“You really figure Mogaba is so stupid he won’t notice that bread? You really
figure he won’t ask questions?”

“You got too rigid a way of looking at things, Kid.”

“You keep up your crap you’re really going to think rigid. You get me killed I’m
going to haunt your ass forever.”

“You probably would. There’s times I think you’re halfway a haunt already.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“These spells you have. When you have them it’s like there’s somebody else
looking out from behind your eyes. It’s like there’s some other soul swirling
around you.”

“I never noticed.” Would I notice?

“If we had us a skilled necromancer or a spirit talker we might be surprise what
we found. You wasn’t born twins, was you?” His stare was fierce.

A chill stalked my spine. The hairs on my neck stirred. I did feel spooky,

sometimes. But he was just trying to change the subject.

Goblin joined us uninvited. “There’s something going on with the Shadowlanders,

Murgen.”

A crow nearby made a sound like laughter. I asked, “They aren’t setting up for
another big attack? I thought Mogaba screwed their main ramp.”

“I couldn’t get close enough to catch any details. Mogaba is staying out where
people can see him. But I think there was a battle. And I think Shadowspinner’s
creeps got whipped. We may have friends out there ready to bust us out.”

“Calm down. Don’t start packing your gear.” One-Eye snickered. “That’s the runt
all over, counting his chickens when he ain’t even stole no eggs yet.”

I grumbled, “You remember what we were just discussing? Stupid moves? And you’d
dare get down on Goblin?” Of course he would. That was his great mission.

“What’s going on?” Goblin demanded. Uncle Doj materialized. His presence ended
the discussion. That man could be spookier than any shade, he moved so fast and
quiet. “Speaker says tell you southerners carrying tools instead of weapons are
assembling south of the city.”

“And what’s that over there?” From our perch most of the activity was hidden
behind the curve of the wall but it looked like a big engineering party had
begun to gather north of the city as well. “You see any prisoners or slaves out
there . . . ? Huh?

What’s that?”

That was the sparkle of sunlight off metal in the hills. The sparkle repeated
itself. People were moving out there, not carefully enough.

Shadowspinner’s men had no need to sneak. I told Goblin, “Pass the word. Full
alert come sundown.”

Uncle Doj considered the hills. “You have good eyes, Bone Warrior.”

“Know something, Stubby? I’d a whole lot rather be called Murgen.”

The squat man smiled thinly. “As you wish, Murgen. I have come on behalf of the
Speaker. He says tell you hard times are coming. He says prepare your hearts and
minds.”

“Hard times?”

One-Eye laughed. “The party is over, Kid. Now we got to pay for loafing around
and getting fat while the houris slithered all over us.”

“Keep it in mind next time you’re tempted to do some profiteering.”

“Huh?”

“You can’t eat money, One-Eye.”

“Killjoy.”

“That’s me all over. Tell Wheezer to hike over to the citadel and tell Sindawe
the southerners are up to something.” Sindawe might be all right. I could talk
to him without having to conquer an urge to squeeze his throat. And this would
cover me on keeping Mogaba informed.

What would happen if the Shadowmaster just up and walked away, leaving us to
sort ourselves out?

Sounded like the smart thing for him to do.

Wheezer barely made it to the top. Then he spent five minutes hacking and
wheezing before he could talk. That old man had no business soldiering at his
age. He ought to be off living off his grandchildren. But like the rest of us he
had nothing outside the Company. He would die under the deathshead standard.

Under what passed for a standard today.

It was sad. Pathetic, even.

Wheezer was an anomaly. Usually the mercenary life is brutal and short, pain and
fear and misery only occasionally interrupted by a fleeting moment of pleasure.

What keeps you sane is the unfailing comradeship of your brethren. In this
company.

In lesser bands . . . But they are not the Black Company.

Croaker and I both put a lot of effort into sustaining that brotherhood. In
fact, it looked like time to resurrect Croaker’s habit of readings from the
Annals so the men would remember that they were part of something more enduring
than most kingdoms.

I told Wheezer, “You better take a couple hours off.”

He shook his head. He would go on the best he could until he could go on no
more. “The Nar lieutenant. Sindawe. Sends greetings. He said we better look out
tonight.”

“He mention why?”

“He sort of hinted . . . that Mogaba might try . . . some big stunt after . . .

dark.”

Mogaba was always trying some big stunt. Shadowspinner ought to let him set
himself up. One raid too many, at the wrong time, and Mogaba would find out
personally why Spinner was called a Shadowmaster.

Wheezer said something in his native tongue. Only One-Eye understood him.

Sounded like a question. One-Eye muttered a few clicky syllables in reply. I
figured the old man wanted to know if it was all right to talk in front of the
Nyueng Bao. One-Eye gave him the go ahead.

Wheezer said, “Sindawe said tell you guys the rumors about a big battle are
probably true.”

“We owe Sindawe, guys,” I said. “That sounds to me like him telling us he won’t
back Mogaba a hundred percent anymore.”

Thai Dei and Uncle Doj sucked up our conversation like Nyueng Bao sponges.

Tension built for hours. With no real evidence we began to feel this night would
be critical. Mostly the guys worried about new nastinesses from Mogaba. We
didn’t expect trouble from the Shadowmaster any time soon.

I kept an eye on the hills.

One-Eye snapped, “There it is!” He shared my anticipations. Pinkish light
flared. Lightning crackled around a bizarre rider.

“She’s back,” somebody said. “Where’s the other one?”

I did not see a Widowmaker right away.

Panic swept the plain. The apparition had taken the scattered Shadowlander camps
unawares. Sergeants shrieked orders. Messengers galloped around. Soldiers
stumbled into one another.

“There he is!” Bucket yelled.

“There who is?”

“Widowmaker.” He pointed. “The Old Man.” The Widowmaker figure shimmered back in
the hills, larger than life.

Goblin grabbed my arm. I don’t know where he came from. “Look over there.” He
indicated the Shadowlander main camp. We could not see the camp itself but a
pale, gangrenous glow rose from its approximate location. The light intensified
steadily.

“Spinner wants to play,” I observed.

“Yeah. He’s sending a big one.”

“A big what? Do we need to get our heads down?”

“Wait and see.”

I waited. And I saw. A nasty ball of green fire streaked toward the hills. It
hit near where Lifetaker first showed herself. Earth flew. Stone burned. All to
no avail. Lifetaker was long gone.

“He missed.”

“What an eye!”

“Lifetaker didn’t play fair. She didn’t stand still.”

“He made a stupid choice of tools,” One-Eye sneered. “You can’t expect somebody
to just hang around and wait for you.”

“Maybe that was his best go. He hasn’t been healthy.”

I sidled away. In a few minutes Goblin and One-Eye would start bickering.

The confusion on the plain worsened. The southerners were more rattled than
seemed reasonable. What I could get from their chatter suggested that they had
been caught just starting something big of their own and their disarray left
them virtually unable to defend themselves. In hushed tones, too, I heard Kina
mentioned.

Lifetaker, who resembled that goddess of corruption, vanished. Maybe she lost
interest. She did not reappear. Shadowspinner pasted the hills with any sorcery
he could slap together. Other than starting a few brush fires he had no obvious
impact.

The fox was in the henyard. Southerners scooted all over, their panic feeding on
the panic of others. When one got close my guys took turns sniping. Goblin said,

“They keep cussing about their feet getting wet.” I heard that, too. It made no
sense.

“Holy shit!”

I don’t know who said it but I could not have agreed more.

Scores of brilliant white fireballs erupted straight up above the Shadowlander
main camp. They obliterated the darkness completely. They seemed a tool of more
use to a Shadowmaster’s enemies than to the villain himself.

A huge uproar followed.

Uncle Doj vanished. One moment he was beside me, the next a shadow running
through the street below, then gone.

One-Eye told me, “This time I’m sure it’s Lady.”

His tone alerted me. “But what?”

“But the other one ain’t the Captain.”

Widowmaker had been visible for less than one minute. “Tell me it ain’t so,” I
muttered.

“What?”

“That we got two sets. Each one only half the real thing.”

A crow nearby cackled.

I asked, “What kind of sorcery would do that? Split them in two?”

“I wish I could tell you something you want to hear, Kid. But I’ve got a very
bad feeling there’s stuff going on we don’t even want to know about.”

One-Eye was a prophet. Although I did want to know. And thanks to the Nyueng Bao
I heard a story.

The light across town faded. The attendant racket subsided. Part of that drifted
toward the hills. The rest fell back toward Mogaba’s part of town.

The crackle of small sorceries rippled across the plain. The whole expanse
glistened silver. “That was a strange one. One-Eye, what say we build a
watchtower on top of one of the enfilading towers? That way we could get high
enough to see what Mogaba and Spinner are doing.”

“You got Nyueng Bao to spy for you over there.”