She Is the Darkness: Book Two of Glittering Stone: A Novel of the Black Company (5 page)

I was never a boozer or hophead. In this part of the world all the major
religions frown on alcohol so there is not a lot available though One-Eye never
has trouble finding the little there is. If none is around he will make some.

All my life addictions scared the shit out of me. When I see a guy whose pain
has driven him behind the veil of alcohol or any drug I want to flee the same
weakness I fear can be found inside me.

I was becoming addicted to the freedom from pain to be found in the in between.

When I was out there with Smoke the horrors of Dejagore and the agony left
behind by Sarie’s murder became no more than distant, nagging aches. That weak
side of me kept promising that even the faraway aches would fade if Smoke and I
just kept working.

I was both happy and completely miserable at the same time. My in-laws were
little help. Thai Dei, as ever, said almost nothing. Uncle Doj merely urged me
to be strong. “Death and despair are what we endure all our lives. This world is
all one of pain and loss illuminated only briefly by moments of happiness and
wonder. We must live for those times, not bemoan their passing.”

“We must live for revenge,” Mother Gota snapped. “You old fool.” She was
contemptuous as she glared at me. Nor did she spare my feelings. “My mother was
a madwoman in her last days. We will be well rid of this weakling.”

Being a weakling and not much caring for this world anymore, I did not feel
obliged to keep the peace. “I bet that back in the swamp they thank their lucky
stars every night that you decided not to come home.”

Thai Dei became pure stone as I put him in a spot where his obligations had to
butt heads.

Uncle Doj chuckled. He rested a hand on Thai Dei’s arm. “A shaft well sped,

youngster. Gota, I must remind you that we are here on sufferance. The Stone
Soldier accepts us for Sahra’s sake. His master does not.”

Though I have a pretty good handle on Nyueng Bao these days I knew I had missed
some key part of that. I did understand that he was telling her not to piss
Croaker off because he might toss them out. And that was something he could
perfectly well do. He considered them little more than camp followers. And
Croaker hates camp followers. He considers them worse than leeches.

I had to wonder if Uncle Doj was not interested in something more than just
revenge for the murders of Sahra and Thai Dei’s son To Tan.

I am not certain where we were. I think about eighty miles south of Dejagore and
passing over into territories only recently taken into our hands, where our
appearance was endured with the same stoicism as the earthquake. Not much
cleaning up had gotten done because the Shadowmaster’s henchmen had employed the
locals in a vain attempt to blunt our advance. Brave fools. Now there was no one
to bury them.

Total paranoia hit me there.

I was unaware of the fact because I was in the wagon but we were just making
camp. I was out scouting the maneuvers of Mogaba’s cavalry and sitting in on his
planning session for making our lives much more unpleasant at Charandaprash. I
had a sneer in my heart. He would not have a single surprise for us. From having
watched Lady and all the special forces she and Croaker had put together I knew
we would have plenty for Mogaba.

Bright man, he expected that. He got to know Croaker pretty well before he
deserted to the Shadowmaster.

Then the paranoia hit. Smugness evaporated. Had I been in flesh I would have
begun to shake as though suddenly thrown into an icy river. I knew I was not
alone.

I would have panicked except for the dullness of emotion out there. I did do a
sort of sudden spin around on the spirit level.

For a second I thought I saw a face, not directed my way.

It was a face out of a collective nightmare, as big as a cow, the color of ripe
eggplant. Its smile was all fangs. And it was smiling at whatever it saw.

Its eyes were plates of fire that, at the same time, seemed to be pools of
darkness capable of drowning souls.

I withdrew, very carefully at first, but in full flight toward the safety of
reality when the face seemed suddenly startled and began to turn. I emerged too
terrified to be hungry or thirsty. I was shaking and babbling and making no
sense at all. The Old Man was close by. One-Eye had him in the wagon by the time
I got myself under control.

“What the hell happened, Murgen? You have some kind of fit? You going to start
going away again on me?” He touched me, felt the shakes that still went right
down to the heart of me. “One-Eye . . . ”

I croaked out, “I just saw Kina. I don’t know if she saw me.”

Death is eternity. Eternity is stone. Stone is silence. Stone speaketh not but
stone doth remember. Deep within the dark heart of the grey fastness stands a
massive throne of worm-eaten wood. This throne has shifted sideways and tilted
dramatically. A dark shape sprawls upon the throne, locked in enchanted slumber,

nailed down by silver daggers driven through its limbs. Its once vacant face is
drawn in agony.

The figure draws a deep breath. Silence yields to a great slow rumbling beat.

This is immortality of a sort but its price is paid in diamonds of pain, in
treasure by the bucket.

In the night, when the wind no longer blows and small shadows no longer creep,

the fortress reclaims its silence.

Silence is stone. Stone is eternity. Eternity is death.

South of Shadowlight, which offered no resistance, the land rose and became
gorsy, stony, and as wrinkled as my mother-in-law’s face. Snow lurked wherever
sunlight seldom fell. Trees were scattered but of a variety that clung
stubbornly to some of its fruit throughout the winter. That fruit was tough and
dry but it grew tastier as we moved farther from civilization and anyplace where
we could acquire more palatable foods. The route the Captain insisted we follow
was one that had received very little preparation. And there were no navigable
waterways up which barges could carry supplies.

We had cattle along. The animals could sustain themselves poorly off the
vegetation. Those of us willing to eat flesh could gnaw on their stringy meat.

But we were just getting started here and already I was convinced that Croaker
had made the wrong choice, attacking now.

Those soldiers who were vegetarians suffered terribly.

The morning wind had a real bite. This definitely was no season for travel. We
could end up in real trouble if Mogaba held us up for long.

That might be a good strategy for him to pursue. Just hold us at Charandaprash
while all our forces came together, with all their camp followers, then continue
to hold us there while we exhausted our resources. Then he could slaughter the
starving remnants as they tried to flee.

Though he never mentioned it in so many words, part of Croaker’s plan was to
replenish our army by seizing supplies Mogaba had laid in for his. The Captain
very much counted on victory now, soon, however cautiously he talked.

He had put us in a position where there was no other choice.

The region around Shadowlight remained prosperous even after the earthquake but
already that was four hard days’ march behind us. Our foragers were eating up
half what they gathered just bringing it in.

Longshadow remained unconvinced that our advance was for real. He had a distinct
problem imagining minds working differently from his own. Mogaba entertained
doubts himself though the Deceivers and his own agents kept him informed of all
the disasters to the Shadowmaster’s cause. Few of the quake-battered towns and
cities made more than token attempts to resist. The Captain had chosen his
moment well, if emotionally.

Dark grey-indigo mountains spanned the southern horizon. Charandaprash was just
days away. The Captain slowed our advance to a very deliberate pace so the
soldiers would have more time to hunt and forage. Our part of the army began
coming together in larger and larger forces. Mogaba’s cavalry did not seem much
inclined to skirmish yet. Ahead of us streamers of smoke sometimes rose as
fleeing enemy caravans failed to run fast enough to outdistance our own
horsemen.

Our headquarters party clung to the road. Always, now, there seemed to be
corpses lying beside it. They came in all varieties, few of them being our own
people.

Croaker had forced me out of One-Eye’s wagon. I was no longer allowed inside
while we were moving. So I led the way, mounted atop that giant black stallion,

always presenting the Black Company standard. Crows were around constantly. I
expect Soulcatcher, wherever she took their reports, was thoroughly amused. The
standard was one we had adapted from one she had assigned us decades ago, based
upon her own fire-breathing skull of a seal.

Uncle Doj walked beside me. He carried a lance as well as Ash Wand, his holy
sword. He had assumed the job of bodyguard while Thai Dei was elsewhere with his
mother. We two encountered all the corpses first. “There’s another one that
looks like a Deceiver,” I said, indicating a badly hacked body wearing nothing
but a ragged loincloth, despite the weather.

“It is good,” Uncle Doj told me. He rolled the corpse over. The man had been run
down by someone with an especial dislike for his cult. He had been mutilated
badly, mostly while he was still alive.

I did not feel a shred of pity. Men just like him murdered my Sarie.

We encountered nothing but signs of outstanding success. But those did not
inspire my confidence in the future.

Roads converged. Forces massed up even more. Every hour we drew nearer
Charandaprash, Mogaba and his four badass divisions of well-trained and
motivated veterans. Getting closer to soldiers who had been getting ready for us
for years. Getting closer to soldiers who were not the clumsy, indifferent
militias that had made up most of our opposition so far. The Old Man talked
confidently in front of the Taglians, who did not know any better, but I knew he
had his doubts.

We would have a numbers advantage but our men had not been drilled until they
were automatons. Our men did not fear their officers more than they feared death
itself. Our men did not know the price you paid if you stirred the anger of a
Shadowmaster. Not in the intimate way the defenders of Charandaprash knew.

Our men had not rehearsed again and again, learning every boulder on the ground
where they would be expected to fight.

A breeze whipped smoke and the stench of death into my face. A soldier shouted.

I glanced back. The Captain, wearing the hideous black Widowmaker armor Lady had
created for him, was coming up. Ravens surrounded him. For the thousandth time I
wondered about his connection with Soulcatcher.

“You sent for me?”

“There’s something you ought to see, I think.” I had not seen it myself yet, but
did know what to expect.

He gestured. “Let’s go.”

We rode up a small rise. We stopped to look at the bodies of six small brown men
far too old to have been soldiers. They lay inside a bowl that had been hollowed
out of the hard ground, around a fire that still yielded a puny thread of smoke.

“Where are the men who killed them?”

“They didn’t hang around. You don’t take chances with these people.”

Croaker grunted, not pleased but understanding the thinking of the ordinary
soldier. He removed his ugly winged helmet. Crows took the opportunity to perch
on his shoulders. He seemed not to notice. “I’d say we’ve gotten somebody’s
attention.”

I had run into little brown men like these before, years ago when first we had
come into the south and more recently in the Deceivers’ holy Grove of Doom,

where I had ambushed many of their top people. A group of these skrinsa
shadowweavers had had the misfortune to be there on behalf of the Shadowmaster.

These men would have been doing the same as those others, using a gaggle of
little shadows to spy and run messages. Croaker pointed. Several of the old men
had had chunks ripped right out of them. He observed, “Lady did say you
shouldn’t get in the way of her bamboo toys.”

We had overtaken Lady, more or less. She was following a line of advance several
miles to our left. If Croaker and she had stolen a kiss they had managed it by
magic. Croaker was in too big a hurry to assume complete control of his
assembling center corps of two divisions.

He carried a bamboo pole slung across his back. So did I. And so did every other
man in the main force, now. Some carried a bundle. “Oh?”

“She’ll pitch a fit if this gets to be a habit.” Croaker was amused.

“She never was a ground-pounder.”

Your average infantryman does not give a rat’s ass about the design function of
a weapon. He is concerned about staying alive and about getting his job done
with the least risk taken. The bamboo doohickeys were meant for combating killer
shadows? So fucking what? If using them made taking out nasty little wizards
easier, guess what was going to happen?

Pop!

We sighted Lake Tanji an hour before night fell. The sudden view was so stunning
I stopped dead in my tracks. The lake was miles across and cold grey. It
dwindled away to my right, the direction our road ran. To our left the land was
very rugged. Arms of increasingly substantial hills ran down to the water. The
Dandha Presh itself seemed to rise directly from the far shore, all greys in the
evening light, dark down low and lighter at the peaks, where snowfields
sparkled. A playful god had scrawled a thin cloudline across the panorama,

halfway up the mountains, so that the peaks rode a magic carpet.

Grey, grey, grey. Right then the whole world seemed grey.

“Impressive,” the Captain said.

“Not at all like seeing it through Smoke’s eyes.”

He frowned at me even though not even a crow was near enough to hear. “Look
there.”

A village burned along the shore several miles ahead. A ball of blue light
streaked out of the conflagration, over the water, narrowly missed a small boat.

The men aboard the boat tried to row harder but began to catch crabs and get in
one another’s way. A swarm of points of light darted at them, not only blue but
green, yellow, pink and a stunning shade of violet. A man jumped up and flailed
around after a ball hit him in the throat. He fell overboard. His antics rocked
the boat dangerously. It shipped water, raised its stern into the air
momentarily.

A ball of light zipped through its bottom, leaving a shimmering hole.

Most of the balls missed. Those continued across the lake, slowing gradually.

Eventually they just drifted on the breeze and faded away.

The excitement brought a flock of crows fast. They circled overhead. Two big
ones dropped onto Croaker’s shoulders. The others scattered in pairs. The boat
sank.

It had been bound for an island that was little more than a rock outcrop
boasting a dozen scraggly pine trees and some halfhearted brush. A crow that got
close suddenly folded up and went ballistic, hit the water and floated without
twitching.

Croaker glared. “Murgen. Move down the foreslope, out of the wind. Find a place
to dig in for the night. Line troops only on this side of the ridge. I want a
double watch kept. I want two battery wagons up, trained on that island.”

His shoulder ornaments were agitated now. I did not mention them. He was
starting to go spooky and he did not answer questions anyway.

One of the ravens squawked. Croaker grunted back. He dismounted, grabbed an
extra bamboo pole from a nearby soldier, headed downhill. His mount followed the
trail he broke.

The soldiers who had begun to gather followed Croaker’s example. They formed a
skirmish line as they advanced. I could not unsling my own bamboo pole because I
was mounted and burdened with the standard. I followed the men on foot. Uncle
Doj formed a one-man rearguard.

Two Shadowlander militiamen broke cover suddenly. They stumbled toward the
water’s edge. Arrows swarmed.

Standing orders were to take no prisoners. The Shadowlanders had been warned.

They had been given four years’ grace. They had made their choices.

Afterward the soldiers began to settle in groups, finding what shelter they
could, starting their cooking fires. More and more came up to the line. Our
staff group gathered in the lee of a shattered boulder, everybody grumbling and
shivering. Pessimists started talking about the chances of snow.

I planted the standard. Uncle Doj and I got ready to make supper. There were no
servants in this army. Servants ate up food soldiers could fix for themselves.

Supper would be rice and dried fruit. Croaker and I would add a few strips of
jerked beef. Uncle Doj would add some fish meal to his rice. Many of the
soldiers would eat no flesh because of religious proscriptions.

I said, “Maybe we can find out if there are any fish in this lake.”

The Old Man looked out there. “Looks like there could be trout.” But he did not
say anything about maybe catching them.

The battery wagons came up. Each had a bed four feet wide by ten feet long
packed with bamboo tubes. They were the ultimate product of Lady’s arsenals. The
Captain supervised their positioning. He wanted them set just right.

Under this overcast it would not be long before it was dark enough for shadows
to prowl.

East of the lake, where Lady’s left wing division was advancing through very
rugged country, a single point of light shot into the air, sped southward, lost
velocity and began to lose altitude slowly. Balls in several colors followed
quickly.

The soldiers stirred nervously.

A whiff sound came from a nearby wagon. A green fireball streaked out over the
lake, its light reflecting off the water. The breeze had died. The lake’s
surface was growing calm.

I was more nervous than any of the soldiers. I had seen what those stinking
little shadowweavers could do. I had seen men scream out their lives while
something invisible gnawed at them.

The soldiers had heard the stories. The sentries would stay awake tonight.

The green ball did not dip toward that island. I sighed. Maybe there was no
danger after all.

The wagon crews loosed another ball at regular intervals. Not a one dipped
toward that island. I regained my confidence. The men began to relax. Eventually
I rolled up in my blankets and lay there watching fireballs streak across the
sky.

It was a comfort knowing no shadow attack would go undetected.

I listened to the wagon crews lay bets on what color fireball would pop out
next. There was no known pattern. They were getting bored. Soon they would be
bitching about getting stuck with the duty while everybody else got to sleep.