Soldiers Live (34 page)

Above Ghoja:

Seeking the One Safe Place
Goblin and the girl both rode, though their mounts remained skittish and
frightened and Goblin’s had to be kept in blinders so that it could not see its
rider. Neither animal was allowed to look back. Goblin himself wore a rag to
protect his damaged but nearly healing eyes.

The handful of soldiers who joined their flight from the middle ground fell away
rapidly. Driven by the “love me” spell they gave it everything they had but
eventually every man drifted outside the spell’s influence, then vanished
immediately.

Only the two touched by Kina crossed the bridge at Ghoja. They reached the north
bank as dawn began to paint the eastern sky. It was still only the morning after
the destruction of the Taglian Middle Army. They had killed several post horses
but even so had not arrived ahead of rumors of the disaster to Taglian arms.

“Our enemies have been here before us,” the Goblin-thing said. He wanted to be
called Khadidas, Slave of Khadi. The girl simply refused to address him by that
appellation. “These people have been warned and threatened but they will raise
no hand against you because of who they think you are.” Not because of who she
was.

The Daughter of Night played Protector with a blend of arrogance and
small-mindedness nothing like her aunt’s but the garrison commanders found her
sufficiently convincing. And she ached every second because it was clear that
these unbelievers would never yield themselves to the service of the Dark
Mother. She knew that they would have tried to destroy her had they known she
was not her aunt. This world deserved the Year of Skulls.

The aura the girl radiated got her through her brief confrontations.

“I’m exhausted,” she whined to Goblin. “I’m not used to riding.”

“We can’t stop here.”

“I can’t go on.”

“You will go on. Until you are safe.” The Khadidas’s voice left no doubt who it
believed to be in charge. “There is a holy place not many leagues further. We’ll
go there.”

“The Grove of Doom.” There was no enthusiasm in the girl’s response. “I don’t
want to go there. I don’t like that place.”

“We will be stronger there.”

“It’ll be the first place they’ll look for us. If they don’t already have
soldiers there waiting.” She knew that was unlikely. Those people were not yet
prepared to tell their soldiers that the woman inside the black leather was not
the Protector anymore, but they did have the capacity to move their game pieces
from afar. They seemed able to thwart the Goddess whenever they liked.

She said, “They already know what we’re going to do. Because we just talked
about it.”

“We’re going to the Grove. I will be much stronger there.” No argument would be
allowed.

The Daughter of Night was no less devoted to her spiritual mother today but she
did not like this creature who bore a fragment of Kina inside him. She found it
difficult to articulate even to herself, but she missed Narayan. She missed him
because he had loved her. And she, in her self-centered way, had loved him
enough in return that now her life was one ongoing trail of loneliness and
desolation . . . leading where? This new hand of the Goddess seemed incapable of
any emotion but anger. And he refused flatly to indulge her in any way, or even
to acknowledge her humanity.

She was a tool. That she was a living thing with wants and emotions all her own
was just an annoyance, a nuisance, an inconvenience. There was an ever stronger
implication that she should learn to abandon her distractive qualities. Or else.

Goblin said, “We need a place where we can be safe and our power is strong
because there is much we need to do before we commence the actual rite of
resurrection.” By which the Daughter of Night understood him to mean bringing on
the Year of the Skulls.

She became attentive despite her inclination to be rebellious. It sounded like
the Khadidas was going to impart some real information at last. Hitherto, the
possessed little man had done nothing more than present his bonafides, then tell
her what to do. They had been together for only a few days but throughout them
he had been completely unforthcoming.

She asked, “How can we possibly bring on the Year of the Skulls? Our cult has
been exterminated. I doubt that there are a hundred devout believers left in the
entire world.”

“There will be hands enough to undertake the holy task. Narayan Singh did well
in his last years. But before we bring them together we must recover the Books
of the Dead.”

The Daughter of Night had to pass on the cruel truth that had been used to
torment her all the while she had been a captive of the Black Company. “The
Books of the Dead no longer exist. The woman who commands our cruelest enemies
burned them personally. Not even a scrap survived. The monster that dwells in
the place of glittering stone, that prevents my mother from rising, had the
ashes scattered throughout all the realms that touch upon the demon plain.”

“That’s true.” The Khadidas grinned evilly. “But books are knowledge. The
knowledge contained within the Books of the Dead is not lost. The knowledge also
resides within the Goddess herself. And whatsoever there was within her that
needed to be brought forth into this world she placed within me before she sent
me forth.”

“You know the Books of the Dead by heart?”

“I do. Which is why we must find our one safe place. The scriptures are no good
locked up inside me. They must be out, in written form, to assume their full
power. They must be there so that the cantor priests can sing from them
continuously during the time of resurrection. Come. We must travel faster.”

The Daughter of Night hurried her pace, her exhaustion pushed back briefly by
the stunning implications of what she had just heard.

The holy books were not lost!

She was ashamed that she had suffered even a slight wavering of faith.

Midway Between:

Bad News
People began to scurry as though in near panic. I knew the signs. News had come
in and it was not good. I suspected the cavalry force sent to probe the defenses
at Ghoja had suffered some major misfortune.

I headed for Sleepy’s tent without being summoned. By the time I ducked inside I
had overheard a half dozen rumors already, not a one of them reassuring.

Generating rumors is one thing even the most inept armed force does exceedingly
well.

Sleepy was heads-together with Suvrin and Runmust, Riverwalker and several
brigade commanders from Hsien. Tobo was there but was goofy with painkillers.

Howler and Shukrat were not present. Tobo looked a little peeved. My guess was
that he had brought the bad news but could not keep himself together well enough
to contribute anything beyond his report.

I had given up on him. If he wanted to cruise around on a post trying to do
things while he was all busted up and in casts I was not going to nag him
anymore. He had a half-crazy mom to handle that.

Sleepy glanced my way, for a second revealed extreme irritation. That turned to
resignation as other former Captains let themselves in behind me. Even Willow
Swan invited himself to sit in.

Sleepy did face a unique challenge. No other Captain in the Company’s history
has had such a cabal of ex-Captains looking over his shoulder. Even though none
of us intrude, or even offer much unsolicited advice, Sleepy’s particular
insecurities leave her feeling like she is being judged whenever she had to
Captain in front of us. And, of course, she is, though like proper old ladies we
do it only behind her back.

“Since everybody but the cooks and grooms is here, I suppose I should get on . .

. No. Tobo is here. He can tell it better than I.” She deferred to the kid as
soon as her gaze fell upon him. I glared at her. She had no business putting him
through . . .

Tobo’s eyes focused. He shut them, took a cleansing breath, started talking.

“The hidden folk have been tracking Goblin and Booboo the best they can, though
it’s hard even when we know what route they have to take.” He was something less
than intimidating, strapped into position aboard a Voroshk flying log, so
covered with casts and splints that he was able to use only one hand. “They
travel inside a fog of, for want of a better description, divine darkness and
confusion. By knowing their route, though, I was able to have the Black Hounds
seed the way with snail shells . . . I got lucky. One of the hidden folk
eavesdropped on an argument between Goblin and the girl.” His words came in a
soft, swift gush that forced his audience to stay quiet and lean forward.

Tobo paused. For effect, I would have suspected in normal circumstances. The kid
liked his drama.

The boy made the grim announcement, “The thing inside Goblin knows the Books of
the Dead by heart. Once the Daughter of Night transcribes them they plan to
start the rites associated with initiating the Year of the Skulls.”

Fox in the henhouse, oh, my, oh!

It took Sleepy several minutes to get everyone settled down. In the interim Tobo
grabbed the opportunity to relax. When a measure of calm returned he said,

“That’s not as bad as it sounds. Remember, there’re only two people involved.

Should we kill either one, the resurrection fails. For the rest of our century
and beyond. And, as anyone who ever worked on the Annals will tell you at great
length, it takes a long time to write a book. Even if you’re just copying. I saw
the Books of the Dead before Sleepy destroyed them. They were huge. And the
Daughter of Night will have to transcribe them error-free. So we don’t exactly
face an immediate crisis even though this is trouble that we never anticipated.”

I jumped in. “If you got one of your critters close enough to find out all that
then you probably know right where they are. We can set up some kind of ambush.”

Lady and Howler were supposed to have been ransacking the cobwebby cellars of
their minds in an effort to recall some ancient device whereby Goblin and the
girl might be distracted, disoriented, distressed and destroyed. Or just
disarmed, in the case of my missus. Realist and pragmatist though she was, she
nevertheless nurtured a blind bit of self-delusion wherein she would turn Booboo
around. Though she would never admit that, of course.

Tobo said, “All right, Master Strategist, Architect of the Destruction of the
Shadowmaster Evil, tell me how you ambush somebody you fall in love with before
they get inside crossbow range.”

“Kid has a point,” Lady said, eyeing me expectantly.

“Your snail-shell lurker didn’t fall in love with her, did it? It just hunkered
down there and eavesdropped till it decided to come running to you with its
gossip.”

“And?”

“So the Unknown Shadows aren’t affected by the Daughter of Night. Is the
opposite true?”

“They couldn’t do her much physical harm.”

“Skryker? Black Shuck? That big old jumping duck thing? You’re shitting me.”

“No, really.”

“Well, they really wouldn’t have to, anyway, would they? They’d just need to
haunt her. Keep interfering with her sleep. Driving her crazy. Jogging her elbow
whenever she tries to write. Really be guilty of all the annoyances they’re
blamed for back in Hsien. They could piss in her inkwell. They could hide her
pens. They could spill stuff on whatever she’s trying to write. They could make
food go bad and milk turn sour.”

“They could keep her husband from performing on her wedding night,” Sleepy
snapped. “You’re roaming a little far into the future, Croaker. And possibly
targeting the wrong victim. The Goblin thing is the one who has the Books of the
Dead locked up inside his gourd. He might be able to manage without the Daughter
of Night. I’m pretty sure she can’t manage without him.”

Points worth considering.

“Both are just ephemeral tools,” Sahra announced in a hollow, oracular voice.

“Both can be replaced. In time. So long as Kina herself persists the threat from
the glittering plain lives on.”

That took all the cheer right out of the gathering.

Everybody stared at Tobo’s mother, the injured boy himself included. There was a
creepy feeling to her, like something had taken control of her, to speak using
her mouth.

Murgen later said Sahra had looked and sounded exactly like her grandmother,

Hong Tray, when she issued her prophecies, decades ago.

She scared the shit out of Murgen and Tobo both. They used all the energy they
could muster to insist that Sleepy’s concern about Goblin and the Daughter of
Night was not yet critical.

The Taglian Territories:

In Motion
Sleepy reaffirmed her determination to move north. We limped along,

accommodating the injured. We encountered no direct resistance at Ghoja, though
forces loyal to the Protector had damaged the main span of the great bridge over
the Main. It took our engineers more than a week to restore the bridge.

Throughout that week the Prahbrindrah Drah and his sister preached to the people
and soldiers of Ghoja. They managed to win the hearts and allegiance of the
majority.

The Prince was quite good with people when we let him run around loose. He
preached his own restoration with an evangelical passion. He won particular
favor amongst old folks nostalgic for the quiet changelessness that had
characterized the world of their youth—before the coming of the Shadowmasters
and the Black Company.

Except for a small memorial pasture where the fighting had been bloodiest, the
battlefield on the north bank, where the Company had won a signal victory in
what seemed like another lifetime, was completely built over. Back then there
had been a hamlet and watchtower on the south bank, beside a ford that could be
crossed only half the year. Now Ghoja threatened to become a city. The bridge,

begun at my suggestion ages ago, was a strategic gem both militarily and
commercially. There were strong forts and big markets on both banks now.

The girl and the Goblin thing should have done more to keep us from crossing
over.

We made camp twelve miles north of the bridge, in rough, bare country still not
claimed by peasants. I doubt that it was good for much but pasture. Which meant
it was a wasteland amongst vegetarians. But had the ground been better I doubt
many farmers would have immigrated. It was too near the high holy place of the
Deceivers, the Grove of Doom.

We left the Prince and his sister at Ghoja, along with many native recruits.

Sleepy thought it was time the royals got a taste of independence. She was
confident that they would not conspire against the Company again. They had been
included in our councils often enough to know that Tobo’s hidden folk would
always be close by.

Ten hours after we set camp, in the middle of the night, Sleepy changed her
mind. She wanted to move a little closer to Taglios, to get between the City and
the Grove of Doom.

I was awake when Riverwalker brought the news, writing by lamplight and keeping
an eye on our injured. Some of them had not weathered the journey well. I was
concerned about Soulcatcher in particular.

The change in plan did not irritate me as deeply as it did Lady. She had to be
dragged out of a deep sleep. The way she snarled and threatened great evils left
me wondering if she had not begun having nightmares again.

Riverwalker murmured, whispered. “I’m getting me a head start.”

“Run, River, run. You’ll need every yard you can get.”

Lady gave me a look that made me wonder if I should not yell at him to wait up.

We established the new camp near a dense stand of trees which, I learned,

surrounded and masked a sprawling Shadowlander cemetery that hailed from the
first Shadowmaster invasion of the Taglian Territories. From before the
Company’s arrival. Almost no one knew about that. I had not, though I had
campaigned in the region. Of the entire host only Suvrin showed any interest. He
thought he might have a relative or two tucked away there.

He would have plenty of opportunity to visit tombs and graves. Sleepy planned to
stay put, recruiting and training and harrying the edge of the Grove of Doom
while Tobo and our other casualties recuperated. The trouble with the cemetery
was, time had vandalized most of the Shadowlanders’ slapdash grave markers.

The Goblin-thing and the Daughter of Night settled down, too, and they really
did nothing but sit. They did not begin transcribing the Books of the Dead
because they had no supplies. They did not consult with Deceivers making
pilgrimages into the holy grove. Those men we left alone, every future step to
be dogged by Unknown Shadows so we could follow their routines once they
returned to their home environments. There were not many Stranglers left alive.

This way we could find out who those few were.

Handy as it is, being able to see whatever you want takes a lot of getting used
to.

The Grove of Doom was always a cruel and wicked place, filled with ancient
darkness. The hidden folk hated it but they endured going in for Tobo’s sake.

Their devotion to the boy gets scary when I think about it too much.

Gromovol and Arkana were mending at a pace equaling Tobo’s, which was amazing
but not magical. Gromovol’s arrogance remained undiminished by misfortune.

Arkana was understandably withdrawn.

Soulcatcher worried me increasingly. Not only did she show no improvement, she
seemed to be growing weaker. She was headed right down the grim trail Sedvod had
blazed.

There was a lot of sentiment favoring letting her slide, and for possibly easing
Gromovol along the same dark path while he was sleeping. The jury remained out
on Arkana even though the hidden folk had exculpated her in all ways but
calculation and manipulation. There were random moments, widely separated, when
I felt sorry for the girl.

I remembered the loneliness.

I was the only one who would talk to her, excepting Gromovol. She turned her
back on him every time he tried to do so. During our reluctant chats I tried to
learn more about her homeworld and, especially, Khatovar. But she did not have
much to say. She knew nothing. She had a full measure of youth’s indifference to
the past.

Shukrat shunned Arkana completely.

Shukrat was almost pathetically eager to fit in. Shukrat really wanted to
belong. I have a strong feeling she did not belong before she joined us. And
maybe Arkana had, which might illuminate Shukrat’s spite toward her now.