Corder was our eyes and ears in Tanner. He had contacts
everywhere. His work against the Lady goes back decades. He is one
of the few who escaped her wrath at Charm, where she obliterated
the Rebel of old. In great part, the Company was responsible. In
those days we were her strong right arm. We piloted her enemies
into the trap.
A quarter million men died at Charm. Never was there a battle so
vast or grim, nor of outcome so definitive. Even the
Dominator’s bloody failure in the Old Forest consumed but
half as many lives.
Fate compelled us to switch sides—once there was no one left to
help us in our fight.
One-Eye’s wound was as clean as he claimed. I cut him
loose, ambled off to my quarters. Word was, Darling wanted the
patrol rested before she accepted its report. I shivered with
premonition, afraid to hear their tidings.
An old, tired man. That is what I am. What became of the old
fire, drive, ambition? There were dreams once upon a time, dreams
now all but forgotten. On sad days I dust them off and fondle them
nostalgically, with a patronizing wonder at the naivete of the
youth who dreamed them.
Old infests my quarters. My great project. Eighty pounds of
ancient documents, captured from the general Whisper when we served
the Lady and she the Rebel. They are supposed to contain the key to
breaking the Lady and the Taken. I have had them six years. And in
six years I have found nothing. So much failure. Depressing.
Nowadays, more often than not I merely shuffle them, then turn to
these Annals.
Since our escape from Juniper they have been little more than a
personal journal. The remnant of the Company generates little
excitement. What outside news we get is so slim and unreliable I
seldom bother recording it. Moreover, since her victory over her
husband in Juniper, the Lady seems to be in stasis even more than
we, running on inertia.
Appearances deceive, of course. And the Lady’s essence is
illusion.
“Croaker.”
I looked up from a page of Old TelleKurre already studied a
hundred times. Goblin stood in the doorway. He looked like an old
toad. “Yeah?”
“Something happening up top. Grab a sword.”
I grabbed my bow and a leather cuirass. I am too ancient for
hand-to-hand. I’d rather stand off and plink if I have to
fight at all. I considered the bow as I followed Goblin. It had
been given me by the Lady herself, during the battle at Charm. Oh,
the memories. With it I helped slay Soulcatcher, the Taken who
brought the Company into the Lady’s service. Those days now
seemed almost prehistoric.
We galloped into sunlight. Others came out with us, dispersed
amidst cactus and coral. The rider coming down the trail—the only
path in here—would not see us.
He rode alone, on a moth-eaten mule. He was not armed.
“All this for an old man on a mule?” I asked. Men
scooted through coral and between cacti, making one hell of a
racket. The old-timer had to know we were there. “We’d
better work on getting out here more quietly.”
“Yeah.”
Startled, I whirled. Elmo was behind me, one hand shading his
eyes. He looked as old and tired as I felt. Each day something
reminds me that none of us are young anymore. Hell, none of us were
young when we came north, over the Sea of Torments. “We need
new blood, Elmo.” He sneered.
Yes. We will be a lot older before this is done. If we last. For
we are buying time. Decades, hopefully. The rider crossed the
creek, stopped. He raised his hands.
Men materialized, weapons held negligently. One old man alone,
at the heart of Darling’s null, presented no danger.
Elmo, Goblin, and I strolled down. As we went I asked Goblin,
“You and One-Eye have fun while you were gone?” They
have been feuding for ages. But here, where Darling’s
presence forbids it, they cannot play sorcerous tricks.
Goblin grinned. When he grins, his mouth spreads from ear to
ear. “I loosened him up.”
We reached the rider. “Tell me later.”
Goblin
giggled, a squeaking noise like water bubbling in a teakettle.
“Yeah.”
“Who are you?” Elmo asked the mule rider.
“Tokens.”
That was not a name. It was a password for a courier from the
far west. We had not heard it for a long time. Western messengers
had to reach the Plain through the Lady’s most tamed
provinces.
“Yeah?” Elmo said. “How about that? Want to
step down?”
The old man eased off his mount, presented his
bonafides. Elmo found them acceptable. Then he announced,
“I’ve got twenty pounds of stuff here.” He tapped
a case behind his saddle. “Every damn town added to the
load.”
“Make the whole trip yourself?” I asked.
“Every foot from Oar.”
“Oar?
That’s . . . ”
More than a thousand miles. I hadn’t known we had anyone
up there. But there, is a lot I do not know about the organization
Darling has assembled. I spend my time trying to get those damned
papers to tell me something that may not be there.
The old man looked at me as though subjecting my soul to an
accounting. “You the physician? Croaker?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Got something for you. Personal.” He opened his
courier case. For a moment everyone was alert. You never know. But
he brought out an oilskin packet wrapped to protect something
against the end of the world. “Rains all the time up
there,” he explained. He gave me the packet.
I weighed it. Not that heavy, oilskin aside. “Who’s
it from?”
The old man shrugged.
“Where’d you get it?”
“From my cell captain.”
Of course. Darling has built with care, structuring her
organization so that it is almost impossible for the Lady to break
more than a fraction. The child is a genius.
Elmo accepted the rest, told Otto, “Take him down and find
him a bunk. Get some rest, old-timer. The White Rose will question
you later.”
An interesting afternoon upcoming, maybe, what with this guy and
Corder both to report. I hefted the mystery packet, told Elmo,
“I’ll go give this a look.” Who could have sent
it? I knew no one outside the Plain.
Well . . . But the Lady would not inject a
letter into the underground. Would she?
Twinge of fear. It had been a while, but she had promised to
keep in touch.
The talking menhir that had forewarned us about the messenger
remained rooted beside the path. As I passed, it said, “There
are strangers on the Plain, Croaker.”
I halted. “What? More of them?”
It reverted to character, would say no more.
Never will I comprehend those old stones. Hell, I still
don’t understand why they are on our side. They hate all
outsiders separately but equally. They and every one of the weird
sentiences out here.
I slipped into my quarters, unstrung my bow, left it leaning
against the earth wall. I settled at my worktable and opened the
packet.
I did not recognize the hand. I found the ending was not signed.
I began to read.
Corder was our eyes and ears in Tanner. He had contacts
everywhere. His work against the Lady goes back decades. He is one
of the few who escaped her wrath at Charm, where she obliterated
the Rebel of old. In great part, the Company was responsible. In
those days we were her strong right arm. We piloted her enemies
into the trap.
A quarter million men died at Charm. Never was there a battle so
vast or grim, nor of outcome so definitive. Even the
Dominator’s bloody failure in the Old Forest consumed but
half as many lives.
Fate compelled us to switch sides—once there was no one left to
help us in our fight.
One-Eye’s wound was as clean as he claimed. I cut him
loose, ambled off to my quarters. Word was, Darling wanted the
patrol rested before she accepted its report. I shivered with
premonition, afraid to hear their tidings.
An old, tired man. That is what I am. What became of the old
fire, drive, ambition? There were dreams once upon a time, dreams
now all but forgotten. On sad days I dust them off and fondle them
nostalgically, with a patronizing wonder at the naivete of the
youth who dreamed them.
Old infests my quarters. My great project. Eighty pounds of
ancient documents, captured from the general Whisper when we served
the Lady and she the Rebel. They are supposed to contain the key to
breaking the Lady and the Taken. I have had them six years. And in
six years I have found nothing. So much failure. Depressing.
Nowadays, more often than not I merely shuffle them, then turn to
these Annals.
Since our escape from Juniper they have been little more than a
personal journal. The remnant of the Company generates little
excitement. What outside news we get is so slim and unreliable I
seldom bother recording it. Moreover, since her victory over her
husband in Juniper, the Lady seems to be in stasis even more than
we, running on inertia.
Appearances deceive, of course. And the Lady’s essence is
illusion.
“Croaker.”
I looked up from a page of Old TelleKurre already studied a
hundred times. Goblin stood in the doorway. He looked like an old
toad. “Yeah?”
“Something happening up top. Grab a sword.”
I grabbed my bow and a leather cuirass. I am too ancient for
hand-to-hand. I’d rather stand off and plink if I have to
fight at all. I considered the bow as I followed Goblin. It had
been given me by the Lady herself, during the battle at Charm. Oh,
the memories. With it I helped slay Soulcatcher, the Taken who
brought the Company into the Lady’s service. Those days now
seemed almost prehistoric.
We galloped into sunlight. Others came out with us, dispersed
amidst cactus and coral. The rider coming down the trail—the only
path in here—would not see us.
He rode alone, on a moth-eaten mule. He was not armed.
“All this for an old man on a mule?” I asked. Men
scooted through coral and between cacti, making one hell of a
racket. The old-timer had to know we were there. “We’d
better work on getting out here more quietly.”
“Yeah.”
Startled, I whirled. Elmo was behind me, one hand shading his
eyes. He looked as old and tired as I felt. Each day something
reminds me that none of us are young anymore. Hell, none of us were
young when we came north, over the Sea of Torments. “We need
new blood, Elmo.” He sneered.
Yes. We will be a lot older before this is done. If we last. For
we are buying time. Decades, hopefully. The rider crossed the
creek, stopped. He raised his hands.
Men materialized, weapons held negligently. One old man alone,
at the heart of Darling’s null, presented no danger.
Elmo, Goblin, and I strolled down. As we went I asked Goblin,
“You and One-Eye have fun while you were gone?” They
have been feuding for ages. But here, where Darling’s
presence forbids it, they cannot play sorcerous tricks.
Goblin grinned. When he grins, his mouth spreads from ear to
ear. “I loosened him up.”
We reached the rider. “Tell me later.”
Goblin
giggled, a squeaking noise like water bubbling in a teakettle.
“Yeah.”
“Who are you?” Elmo asked the mule rider.
“Tokens.”
That was not a name. It was a password for a courier from the
far west. We had not heard it for a long time. Western messengers
had to reach the Plain through the Lady’s most tamed
provinces.
“Yeah?” Elmo said. “How about that? Want to
step down?”
The old man eased off his mount, presented his
bonafides. Elmo found them acceptable. Then he announced,
“I’ve got twenty pounds of stuff here.” He tapped
a case behind his saddle. “Every damn town added to the
load.”
“Make the whole trip yourself?” I asked.
“Every foot from Oar.”
“Oar?
That’s . . . ”
More than a thousand miles. I hadn’t known we had anyone
up there. But there, is a lot I do not know about the organization
Darling has assembled. I spend my time trying to get those damned
papers to tell me something that may not be there.
The old man looked at me as though subjecting my soul to an
accounting. “You the physician? Croaker?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Got something for you. Personal.” He opened his
courier case. For a moment everyone was alert. You never know. But
he brought out an oilskin packet wrapped to protect something
against the end of the world. “Rains all the time up
there,” he explained. He gave me the packet.
I weighed it. Not that heavy, oilskin aside. “Who’s
it from?”
The old man shrugged.
“Where’d you get it?”
“From my cell captain.”
Of course. Darling has built with care, structuring her
organization so that it is almost impossible for the Lady to break
more than a fraction. The child is a genius.
Elmo accepted the rest, told Otto, “Take him down and find
him a bunk. Get some rest, old-timer. The White Rose will question
you later.”
An interesting afternoon upcoming, maybe, what with this guy and
Corder both to report. I hefted the mystery packet, told Elmo,
“I’ll go give this a look.” Who could have sent
it? I knew no one outside the Plain.
Well . . . But the Lady would not inject a
letter into the underground. Would she?
Twinge of fear. It had been a while, but she had promised to
keep in touch.
The talking menhir that had forewarned us about the messenger
remained rooted beside the path. As I passed, it said, “There
are strangers on the Plain, Croaker.”
I halted. “What? More of them?”
It reverted to character, would say no more.
Never will I comprehend those old stones. Hell, I still
don’t understand why they are on our side. They hate all
outsiders separately but equally. They and every one of the weird
sentiences out here.
I slipped into my quarters, unstrung my bow, left it leaning
against the earth wall. I settled at my worktable and opened the
packet.
I did not recognize the hand. I found the ending was not signed.
I began to read.