Shadows Linger (5 page)

Nothing happened. His heartbeat gradually slowed. He kept reminding himself that
he was doing this so his mother would not have to freeze on winter streets.

He thumped the door with his knee. It swung inward immediately. A shadow hissed,

“Hurry up,” and seized the old man's feet, helped Shed heave it into a wagon.

Panting, terrified, Shed croaked, “What now?”

“Go to bed. You get your share in the morning.”

Shed's relieved sigh nearly became tears. “How much?” he gasped.

“A third.”

“Only a third?”

“I'm taking all the risk. You're safe already.”

“All right. How much would it be?”

“The market varies.” Raven turned away. Shed closed the door, leaned against it
with closed eyes. What had he done?

He built up the fire and went to bed, lay listening to his mother's snores. Had
she guessed? Maybe she wouldn't. The Custodians often waited for night. He would
tell her she had slept through everything.

He could not sleep. Who knew about the death? If word got out, people would
wonder. They would begin to suspect the unsuspectable.

What if Raven got caught? Would the Inquisitors make him talk? Bullock could
make a stone sing.

He watched his mother all next morning. She did not speak except in
monosyllables, but that was her custom.

Raven appeared shortly after noon. “Tea and a bowl of porridge, Shed.” When he
paid, he did not shove copper across the counter.

Shed's eye widened. Ten silver leva lay before him. Ten? For one dead old man?

That was a third? And Raven had done this before? He must be rich. Shed's palms
grew moist. His mind howled after potential crimes.

“Shed?” Raven said softly when he delivered the tea and porridge. “Don't even
think about it.“ ”What?“ ”Don't think what you're thinking. You would end up in
the wagon.”

Darling scowled at them from the kitchen doorway. For a moment Raven seemed
embarrassed.

Shed slunk into the hostel where Krage held court. From the outside the place
was as crummy as the Lily. Timidly, he looked for Count, tried to ignore Asa.

Count would not torment him for fun. “Count, I need to see Krage.” Count opened
big brown cow eyes. “Why?” “I brought him some money. On account.” Count heaved
himself upright. “All right. Wait here.”

He stalked off.

Asa sidled up. “Where'd you get the money. Shed?” “Where do you get yours, Asa?”

Asa did not answer.

“It isn't polite to ask. Mind your own business or stay away from me.”

“Shed, I thought we were friends.”

“I tried to be friends, Asa. I even let you have a place to sleep. And as soon
as you hooked up with Krage. ...”

A shadow crossed Asa's face. “I'm sorry, Shed. You know me. I don't think so
fast. I do dumb things.”

Shed snorted. So Asa had come to the inevitable conclusion: Krage would dump him
once he settled with Raven.

Shed was tempted to betray Raven. The man had to have a fortune hidden. But he
was afraid of a thousand things, and his guest stood at the top of the list.

Asa said, “I found a way to get deadwood from the Enclosure.” His face
brightened in pathetic appeal. “Mostly pine, but it's wood.”

“The Enclosure?”

“It's not illegal, Shed. It keeps the Enclosure cleaned up.”

Shed scowled righteously.

“Shed, it's less wrong than going through somebody's. ...”

Shed controlled his anger. He needed allies inside the enemy camp. “Firewood
could be like money, Asa. No provenance.”

Asa smiled fawningly. “Thanks, Shed.”

Count called, “Shed.”

Shed shook as he crossed the room. Krage's men smirked.

This wouldn't work. Krage wouldn't listen. He was going to throw his money away.

“Count says you've got something to give me on account,” Krage said.

“Uhm.” Krage's den could have been ripped whole from a mansion high up the wall
of the valley. Shed was stunned.

“Stop gawking and get on with it. You'd better not give me a handful of copper
and beg for an extension, either. Picked a warm doorway yet? Your payments are a
joke, Shed.”

“No joke. Mr. Krage. Honest. I can pay over half of it.”

Krage's eyebrows rose. “Interesting.” Shed laid nine silver leva before him.

“Very interesting.” He fixed Shed with a penetrating stare.

Shed stammered, “That's over half, counting interest. I hoped maybe seeing as
how that would put me ahead. ...”

“Quiet.” Shed shut up. “You think I should forget what happened?”

“That wasn't my fault, Mr. Krage. I didn't tell him to. ... You don't know what
Raven is like.”

“Shut up.” Krage stared at the coins. “Maybe something can be arranged. I know
you didn't put him up to it. You don't have the guts.”

Shed stared at the floor, unable to deny his cowardice. “Okay, Shed. You're a
regular client. Back to the regular schedule.“ He eyed the money. ”You're ahead
three weeks, looks like.”

“Thank you, Mr. Krage. Really. You don't know how much this means. ...”

“Shut up. I know exactly what it means. Get out. Start getting another payment
together. This is your last reprieve.”

“Yes. sir.” Shed retreated. Count opened the door.

“Shed! I may want something sometime. A favor for a favor. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Go.”

Shed left, a sinking feeling replacing relief. Krage would make him help get
Raven. He almost wept as he tramped homeward. It never got any better. He was
always in a trap.

TALLY TURNAROUND
Tome was typical of towns we had garrisoned recently. Small, dirty, boring. One
wondered why the Lady bothered. What use were these remote provinces? Did she
insist they bend the knee merely to puff her ego? There was nothing here worth
having, unless it was power over the natives.

Even they viewed their country with a certain contempt.

The presence of the Black Company strained the resources of the area. Within a
week the Captain started talking about shifting a company to Heart and billeting
smaller units in the villages. Our patrols seldom encountered the Rebel, even
when our wizards helped hunt. The engagement at Madle's had all but eliminated
the infestation.

The Lady's spies told us the few committed Rebels left had fled into Tambor, an
even bleaker kingdom to the northeast. I supposed Tambor would be our next
mission.

I was scribbling away at these Annals one day, when I decided I needed an
estimate of the mileage we'd covered in our progression eastward. I was appalled
to learn the truth. Tome was two thousand miles east of Charm! Far beyond the
bounds of the empire as it had existed six years ago. The great bloody conquests
of the Taken Whisper had established a border arc just this side of the Plain of
Fear. I ran down the line of city-states forming that forgotten frontier. Frost
and Ade, Thud and Barns, and Rust, where the Rebel had defied the Lady
successfully for years. Huge cities all, formidable, and the last such we had
seen.

I still shuddered, recalling the Plain of Fear.

We crossed it under the aegis of Whisper and Feather, two of the Taken, the
Lady's black apprentices, both sorceresses orders of magnitude above our three
puny wizards. Even so, and traveling with entire armies of the Lady's regulars,

we suffered there. It is a hostile, bitter land where none of the normal rules
apply. Rocks speak and whales fly. Coral grows in the desert. Trees walk. And
the inhabitants are the strangest of all. . . . But that is neither here nor
there. Just a nightmare from the past. A nightmare that haunts me still, when
the screams of Cougar and Fleet come echoing down the corridors of time, and
once again I can do nothing to save them.

“What's the trouble?” Elmo asked, slipping the map from beneath my fingers,

cocking his head sideways. “Look like you saw a ghost.”

“Just remembering the Plain of Fear.” “Oh. Yeah. Well, buck up. Have a beer.” He
slapped my back. “Hey! Kingpin! Where the hell you been?” He charged away, in
pursuit of the Company's leading malingerer.

One-Eye arrived a moment later, startling me. “How's Goblin?” he asked softly.

There had been no intercourse between them since Madle's. He eyed the map. “The
Empty Hills? Interesting name.”

“Also called the Hollow Hills. He's all right. Why don't you check him out?”

"What the hell for? He was the one who acted the ass.

Can't take a little joke. ..."

“Your jokes get a bit rough, One-Eye.” “Yeah. Maybe. Tell you what. You come
with me.“ ”Got to prepare my reading.” One night a month the Captain expects me
to exhort the troops with a reading from the Annals. So we'll know where we came
from, so we'll recall our ancestors in the outfit. Once that meant a lot. The
Black Company. Last of the Free Companies of Khatovar. All brethren. Tight.

Great esprit. Us against the world, and let the world watch out. But the
something that had manifested itself in Goblin's behavior, in the low-grade
depression of Elmo and others, was affecting everybody. The pieces were coming
unglued.

I had to pick a good reading. From a time when the Company had its back against
the wall and survived only by clinging to its traditional virtues. There have
been many such moments in four hundred years. I wanted one recorded by one of
the more inspired Annalists, one with the fire of a White Rose revivalist
speaking to potential recruits. Maybe I needed a series, one that I could read
several nights running.

“Crap,” One-Eye said. “You know those books by heart. Always got your nose in
them. Anyway, you could fake the whole thing and nobody would know the
difference.”

"Probably. And nobody would care if I did. It's going sour, old-timer. Right.

Let's go see Goblin."

Maybe the Annals needed a rereading on a different level. Maybe I was treating
symptoms. The Annals have a certain mystic quality, for me. Maybe I could
identify the disease by immersing myself, hunting something between the lines.

Goblin and Silent were playing no-hands mumbletypeg. I'll say this for our three
spook-pushers: They aren't great, but they keep then- talents polished. Goblin
was ahead on points. He was in a good mood. He even nodded to One-Eye.

So. It was over. The stopper could be put into the bottle. One-Eye just had to
say the right thing.

To my amazement, he even apologized. By sign, Silent suggested we get out and
let them conclude their peace in private. Each had an overabundance of pride.

We stepped outside. As we often did when no one could intercept our signs, we
discussed old times. He, too, was privy to the secret for which the Lady would
obliterate nations.

Half a dozen others suspected once, and had forgotten. We knew, and would never
forget. Those others, if put to the question, would leave the Lady with serious
doubts.

We two, never. We knew the identity of the Lady's most potent enemy-and for six
years we had done nothing to apprise her of the fact that that enemy even
existed as more than a Rebel fantasy.

The Rebel tends to a streak of superstition. He loves prophets and prophecies
and grand, dramatic foretellings of victories to come. It was pursuit of a
prophecy which led him into the trap at Charm, nearly causing his extinction. He
regained his balance afterward by convincing himself that he was the victim of
false prophets and prophecies, laid upon him by villains trickier than he. In
that conviction he could go on, and believe more impossible things.

The funny thing was, he lied to himself with the truth. I was, perhaps, the only
person outside the Lady's inner circle who knew he had been guided into the jaws
of death. Only, the enemy who had done the guiding was not the Lady, as he
believed.

That enemy was an evil greater still, the Dominator, the Lady's one-time spouse,

whom she had betrayed and left buried but alive in a grave in the Great Forest
north of a far city called Oar. From that grave he had reached out, subtly, and
twisted the minds of men high in Rebel circles, bending them to his will, hoping
to use them to drag the Lady down and bring about his own resurrection. He
failed, though he had help from several of the original Taken in his scheme.

If he knew of my existence, I must be high on his list. He lay up there still,

scheming, maybe hating me, for I helped betray the Taken helping him. . . .

Scary, that. The Lady was medicine bad enough. The Dominator, though, was the
body of which her evil was but a shadow. Or so the legend goes. I sometimes
wonder why, if that is true, she walks the earth and he lies restless in the
grave.

I have done a good deal of research since discovering the power of the thing in
the north, probing little-known histories. Scaring myself each time. The
Domination, an era when the Dominator actually ruled, smelled like an era of
hell on earth. It seemed a miracle that the White Rose had put him down. A pity
she could not have destroyed him. And all his minions, including the Lady. The
world would not be in the straits it is today. I wonder when the honeymoon will
end. The Lady hasn't been that terrible. When will she relax, and give the
darkness within her free rein, reviving the terror of the past?

I also wonder about the villainies attributed to the Domination. History,

inevitably, is recorded by self-serving victors.

A scream came from Goblin's quarters. Silent and I stared at one another a
moment, then rushed inside.

I honestly expected one of them to be bleeding his life out on the floor. I did
not expect to find Goblin having a fit while One-Eye desperately strove to keep
him from hurting himself. “Somebody made contact,” One-Eye gasped. "Help me.

It's strong."

I gaped. Contact. We hadn't had a direct communication since the desperately
swift campaigns when the Rebel was closing in on Charm, years ago. Since then,