Bleak Seasons (7 page)

Damn! The shit is about to start flying but I just realized that when I started
putting these notes together I missed doing the famous formula Croaker always
used to open a new volume. So here goes:

In those days the Company was in service to the Prabrindrah Drah of Taglios, a
prince whose domains spanned territories more vast than those of many empires.

We were participating in the occupation and protection of the recently captured
city Dejagore.

And I hope princie and his skag sister the Radisha choke on our memory.

The shitstorm arrived. Every man defending our section of wall stayed busy
returning some of it to the southerners. The illusory doppelgangers appeared to
be hard at work, too. Funny how they could wander around never getting hurt.

“One-Eye! Goblin!” I yelled. “Where the hell are you peckerheads? What the frack
is going on over there?” I watched a feeble arrow pass through a Murgen a dozen
yards away. “What’s that weird light?” Whatever it was, it gave me the feeling
that things could get worse than they looked already.

I got no response whatsoever from my favorite wizards. “Rudy. Flip a flare ball
out there. Let’s see what’s sneaking around.” Until recently my now less than
favorite wizards had provided spot illumination. “Bucket! Where the hell are
Goblin and One-Eye?” Ten minutes ago I had three pairs underfoot, all of them
squabbling. Now they were gone and the Shadowlanders were quieter than mice
below.

Red Rudy yelled at Loftus and Cletus. One of their engines thumped. A blazing
ball arced outward, its only purpose to betray what the enemy was doing in the
darkness.

Sparkle piped, “I seen them headed downstairs.”

Suckass. “Why?” This was for sure not the time to wander away.

“Uh . . . They went to talk to Pirmhi and some of them guys from the Horse
Brigade.”

I shook my head. I would choke them myself. In the middle of a goddamned battle
. . .

The fireball revealed that the Shadowlanders had pulled back from the wall.

Spending our missiles was a waste. The southerners were setting up engines
capable of throwing grapnels in clusters. That was a stupid way to do business
against an eighty-foot wall with veteran soldiers on top, but if they wanted to
play it that way we would accommodate them. I was confident that, no matter how
many ropes they threw up, we could cut or dislodge their lines before they could
climb that high, then, with lungs ready to fall out and arms too heavy to lift,

get busy defending their bridgehead while other equally dim types made the same
climb carrying a half ton of equipment apiece. “Goblin!” Goddamnit, I wanted to
know what that light was over there.

The Shadowlanders had not scaled the wall there. They had attacked off of
earthen ramps. Not a surprise. They had been building the ramps from the
beginning. That was just basic siegework, employed since the dawn of time and
one reason your thoughtful modern prince builds his stronghold on a crag or
headland or island. Naturally, the besieger spans the last dozen feet with a
bridge he can yank back if a dangerous counterattack develops.

The flareball smashed down four hundred yards out. It continued to provide light
until the southerners buried it with sand originally intended to extinguish
firebombs if we used them. “One-Eye! I’m going to have your wrinkled balls for
breakfast!”

I snarled, “Cletus, keep throwing them fireballs. Who’s got messenger duty?

Feet? Go find Goblin and One-Eye . . . Never mind. One of them brain-damaged
runts just turned up.”

One-Eye said, “You rang, milord?”

“Are you sober? Are you ready to get to work now?” He stared at that nasty light
across town without me coaching him. I asked, “What is that?” The light seemed
more sinister now.

One-Eye raised a hand. “Kid, why not take this gods given opportunity to
exercise your least well-honed talent?”

“What?”

“Be patient, dickhead.”

The mist or haze or dust started getting thicker. The light grew brighter.

Neither happening buoyed my confidence. “Talk to me, old man. This ain’t the
time for any of your bullshit.”

“That haze, that ain’t no mist, Murgen. The light ain’t shining off it. It’s
making the light.” And the mist and light were drifting toward the city.

“Horse puckey. You can see where there’s a light burning in their camp.”

“That’s something else. There’s two things going on at once, Murgen.”

“Three things, halfwit.” Goblin had arrived, beer breath and all. Presumably all
was well at the secret brewery, the arrangements with the cavalry were secure,

and he and One-Eye could take time off to help the Black Company defend
Dejagore.

Heaven help them if Mogaba discovered what they were doing with grain supposedly
set aside for the horses. I wouldn’t have a prayer of saving their butts nor
would I offer one.

“What?” One-Eye barked. “Murgen, the man is a walking provocation.”

“Watch, bonehead,” Goblin countered. “It’s already happening.”

One-Eye gasped, suddenly astonished, then frightened. Ignorant in the dark arts,

it took me longer to catch it.

Shadows snaked through that blazing dust cloud, thin things little more than
suggestions but with something flitting back and forth amongst them. I thought
both of a weaver’s shuttle and of spiders. Whichever, web or net, something was
forming inside the blazing dust.

They did call him Shadowspinner.

The glimmering cloud grew larger and brighter. The web grew with it.

“Shit,” Goblin muttered. “Now what do we do about this?”

“Exactly what I’ve been trying to get out of you two clowns for the last five
minutes!” I bellowed.

“Well!”

“Maybe you could pay attention over here if you can’t do anything about that!”

Bucket yelled. “Murgen, those fools have gotten so many ropes up that we can’t .

. . Shit!” Another barrage of grapnels fell amongst us. In moments they showed
the strain that meant some moron was trying to climb them.

So much for my belief that there was no chance the southerners could scale my
wall.

Guys were hard at work with knives and swords and axes. Imaginary people stood
around looking fierce. I heard a man grumble that if he had half a brain he
would have sharpened his knives. Rudy reminded him, “If you kept your pecker in
your pants more you’d have time.”

Some Jaicuri women, naturally, inevitably, did what they had to do to survive.

Doing my part, I hacked on ropes but kept turning to check that light and the
webs forming inside it.

Goblin howled, creased by a nearly spent arrow. The cut, on his cheek, was
trivial. Arrows have little energy by the time they reach us. He was outraged
because fate dared show him the back of her hand at all.

He danced around. Words of power virtually dripped from his mouth in pastel
colors. He waved his arms. He foamed at the mouth. He jumped up and down,

shrieked, flapped his arms.

His doppelgangers all did the same. It was quite a show.

In all likelihood the gymnastics and yelling had nothing to do with results
eventually achieved but I don’t mind showmanship as long as he produces. Croaker
was right. Showmanship is the biggest part of the game.

Everything hemp within three hundred yards burst into flame. That was a happy
eventuality where our relationship with our attackers was concerned but not
something likely to wring cries of joy from anyone else, either. Temporary
defense works began to fall apart. Our artillery pieces flared and died. They
had included lots of rope. Some guys use rope for belts. Some wear sandals made
of rope. Hemp is a commonplace everywhere. Some fools like One-Eye even smoke
it.

Cletus bellowed, “Goddamn you, Goblin, I’m gonna chop your ass into cat food.”

The rest of us just pulled our pants up and amused ourselves by dropping masonry
bits mined from our cellars onto the cursing tangle of limbs wriggling at the
foot of the wall.

One-Eye ignored all that, though he took a moment to smirk at the side effects
embarrassing Goblin. Then he began to stare at the glow rising from the enemy
camp. And began to stutter.

“Come on, shithead,” I growled. “You’ve played with this stuff for ages. What
have we got here?” Not that I wanted to know. That web of shadow woven into the
light was now obvious to all but the blind.

“Maybe we might ought to head for the cellar,” One-Eye suggested. “I promise
you, me and the runt ain’t gonna do nothing with that. Bet you even Longshadow
would be bugeyed if he was here to see it. The man put a lot of work in, getting
that ready. It’s going to get real unhealthy around here real soon.” Without
investing a quarter of the study time Goblin agreed. “If we seal the doors and
use the white candles we can hold out till sunrise.”

“This some kind of shadow magic, then?”

“Some kind,” Goblin agreed. “Don’t ask me to look so close I catch its
attention.”

“Heaven forbid you should actually take a risk. Can either of you come up with a
more practical suggestion?”

“More practical?” One-Eye sputtered.

“We’re fighting a battle here.”

Goblin said, “We could retire from the soldiering racket. Or we could surrender.

Or we could offer to change sides.”

“Maybe we could offer up a half-pint human sacrifice to one of Geek and Freak’s
bloodthirsty gods.”

“You know what I really miss about Croaker, Murgen?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”

“Damned straight you are. I miss his sense of humor.”

“Wait a minute. His sense of humor? Are you shitting me? What sense of humor?

The man . . . ”

“He knew none of us were going to get out of this world alive, Murgen. He never
took himself completely serious.”

“Are you talking about the guy who used to be the Old Man? Croaker? Company
Annalist and chief bonesetter in his spare time? Some kind of comedian?”

While we bickered the rest of the world bustled along with its business. Which
meant our situation deteriorated by the minute. A human weakness, as old as
time, arguing while the house burns down around you.

One-Eye interjected, “You gents go ahead and debate if you want. I’m going to
invite the boys downstairs, treat them to a beer and take a turn or two at
tonk.” He stabbed a crooked black finger earthward.

The gleaming dust with cruel web inside began to arc up over the city. It just
might grow enough to net us all.

A vast stillness set in.

Inside the city and out, friend and foe, people of a dozen races and religions
all focused upon that shadow web.

Shadowspinner, of course, was totally involved in creating his deadly artifact.

The Shadowlander assault lost impetus as the Shadowmaster’s soldiers decided to
hunker down and let their boss make their jobs easier.

The web of darkness would span all Dejagore soon. “One-Eye. Goblin. You guys
have any new ideas?”

“Get religion?” Goblin suggested. “Since you won’t let us go den up?”

One-Eye mused, “You might amble over and see if Mogaba will change his mind
about letting us operate his engines.” The Taglian crews were ineffective. “We
might be able to distract Spinner.”

“You did take shadows into account when you spelled the entrances to the
underground?” I knew. They had. That was always our biggest concern. But I had
to reassure myself. You keep checking on Goblin and One-Eye.

Small groups were returning after long, dangerous journeys through the night,

searching for rope that had survived.

“Yeah. For what that’s worth. You ready to go down and start starving yet?”

Bad signs followed ill omens. The situation was grim indeed if One-Eye and
Goblin could spare no time to quarrel.

A sudden susurrus swept the city and the plain beyond.

A blazing diamond of light rose out of the Shadowlander camp. It spun slowly. A
core of darkness centered it. From that, blackness pulsed out into the all
spanning web it anchored.

Nobody was looking at the hills when the pinkish light returned. No one noticed
until it flared so brilliantly that it rivalled the brightness here at hand.

It burned behind two bizarre mounted figures. It cast their hideous shadows upon
the night itself. Crow shadows circled them. Two huge ravens perched upon the
shoulders of the larger figure.

Nobody breathed for a while. Not even Shadowspinner, I’d bet. And I was sure he
had no more idea what was happening than I did.

The pink flare faded. A cable of pink reached toward Dejagore, like a snake
probing, stretching. As one end neared us the nether end broke loose. That
whipped our way too fast for the eye to follow and in an instant screamed into
Shadowspinner’s bright diamond. Sun brilliant flash splashed out of that
sorcerous construct’s far side like suddenly flung barrels of burning oil.

Immediately the dark web overhead began to shrink back into the remnants of the
diamond.

The air vibrated with the Shadowmaster’s anger. “Goblin! One-Eye! Talk to me,

boys. Tell me what the hell just happened.”

Goblin couldn’t talk. One-Eye burbled, “I ain’t got the faintest fucking idea,

Kid. But we’re downwind of one seriously pissed-off Shadowmaster who’s probably
going to blame you and me for his ulcers.”

A tremor disturbed the night, more psychic than physical. I am magically deaf
and dumb and blind, except for perceived effects, but I felt it.

One-Eye was right.

The pink light was gone. I saw no more sign of those bizarre riders. Who were
they? What? How?

I didn’t get a chance to ask.

Little brown fellows carrying torches so they could see where they were running
burst out of the Shadowlander camp. That could not bode well for me, my pals, or
anyone else inside the wall.

“Poor Spinner,” I cracked. “You got to feel for the man.”

“Huh?” Sparkle was the only man close enough to hear.

“Don’t you hate it when some no-brain vandalizes a work of art?”

Sparkle didn’t get it. He shook his head, grabbed a javelin and threw it down at
a short person with a torch.

He missed.

Around where those Shadowlanders had gained a foothold on the wall, and on the
earthen approach ramps, a big racket began to develop. The Shadowmaster, piqued,

had told his boys to get back to work. And don’t be so damned gentle anymore.

“Hey, Bubba-do,” I shouted at a soldier, “who’s got tonight in the pool?”

There is the Black Company for you. We’ve got a pool on what night the city will
fall. I guess the winner gets to die with a smile on his ugly mug.