Exile watching had become a permanent assignment for Silent. And now it looked like it was paying off. He was excited when he slipped in.
He signed, "They have come up with the names of three men who were regular companions of the murdered man. Timmy Locan. Smeds Stahl. Old Man Fish."
"Fish?" Raven asked aloud.
Silent signed, "Yes. The description was vague but he could be the man who whipped you three."
"Old Man Fish?"
Silent smiled wickedly, but signed, "They have been traced to a place known as the Skull and Crossbones, which is abandoned now, except for squatters. But the Nightstalkers had a corporal billeted there till the night the riots started. They are looking for him. They think he can identify the men. Exile feels very close. He is mobilizing all his resources. Also, the Limper is expected tomorrow."
Darling was excited. She looked like she had stumbled onto an unexpected answer. She clapped her hands, demanding attention. "You will prevent them from bringing that soldier to Exile. I want him. Deliver him to Lamber Gartsen's stable."
She had worked hard, using her Plain allies, to take stock of what little remained of the Rebel cause. Gartsen was it.
"Likewise, identify and collect the owner of the Skull and Crossbones. And anyone else who made an extended stay during the appropriate period. Be careful. They have made no great effort to catch us but they know we are here. They will be alert for their opportunities. Outfit yourselves as Exile's guards. Let us go."
They tried to argue. Arguing with Darling was like arguing with the wind. Faced with no other choice, they went with her, to guard her.
They departed the temple one by one, unnoticed in the press. Darling gathered them two blocks away, took reports from Plain creatures she had sent ahead, signed, "Exile's guards are billeted in the Treasury Annex. There are twelve there now, off duty. Silent, you and Bomanz will neutralize them."
No if you can or give it a try. Just do it.
The men were rattled. They were not prepared for a head-to-head with a city very much in imperial hands.
They did not argue this time, though.
Silent knew a spell for putting people to sleep but it was verbally based. Pruned up in disgust, he gave it to Bomanz. The wizards went away. Darling gave them a five-minute start.
Silent awaited them at the annex door. He signed, "They are asleep."
Darling countered, "I want them under so deep they will not awaken for days. Then hidden where they are not likely to be found."
Silent scowled but nodded.
Shortly afterward, as they donned a guise acceptable on the streets of Oar, Bomanz said, "Let's keep it neat here. The longer it takes them to figure it out, the longer we've got to take advantage of their costumes."
Raven grunted. Silent nodded. One of the Torques asked, "What are these brooch things with the garnet faces? Allegiance badges?"
Silent examined one, set it down quickly, made signs at Bomanz. The old wizard looked at the brooch. "Allegiance badges, yes, but also a way for Exile to track his people. We'd better do something with them. Like have that idiot buzzard fly them out into the country."
Darling signed impatiently.
"All right, all right," Bomanz grumbled. "I'm hurrying as fast as I can."
Another half hour passed before they left the Annex. Darling, Raven, and Bomanz rode, guised as black riders. The rest went as foot soldiers. Wherever they went people got out of their way.
Once they cleared the city's center Darling and the injured Torque split off for the Gartsen stable. There was a talking stone there. Darling wanted to get in touch with Old Father Tree. The rest went off to see what they could do about keeping the imperials from getting their hands on anyone who could identify the men who had stolen the silver spike.
After I figured out I was probably safer in the militia than hanging around Darling I settled down and made myself to home. It was kind of comfortable back in the old rut. Didn't have to do no thinking or worrying.
But I guess I spent too much time running loose. It got old fast. First time I felt like going out for a beer and couldn't I knew I was getting out and staying there.
That idea got a boost when the sergeant had us our first weapons practice. We stood around in the mud while the breeze gnawed on us. Half the guys weren't dressed for it. But that wasn't what got me. That was what the sergeant told us.
"Listen up, you men. We just got word trouble gets here tomorrow. All the learning you're going to get you're going to get today. You want a half-ass chance of getting through alive, pay attention. The only weapon we got to give you is the spear. So that's all we're going to work with." He indicated soldiers who had their arms wrapped around bundles of spears. The spearheads were inside wooden covers so nobody would get stabbed or cut. "These two new guys are experts. They was loaned to us by the Nightstalkers. They're going to run us through the drills. You don't do what they tell you, you get your butt kicked same as if you don't do what I tell you." He gestured at one of the Nightstalkers.
They all learn their piece at the same place, I think.
The Nightstalker stripped the cover off the head of a spear. "This is a spear." He was going to blind us with illuminating information. But I'd played with these toys lots. Those others guys hadn't. Maybe some of them needed to be told. You got to crawl before you walk and walk before you run. Except my littlest brother Radish. The way I remember, he hit the ground running.
"This edge is sharp enough to shave with. This point will go through armor if you put some muscle behind it. The spear is a very versatile weapon. You can stab with it, jab with it, cut with it, slash with it. You can use it to hold your tent up or use it for a fishing pole. But one thing you can't never do with it is throw it. It ain't a javelin. You throw it and you don't have shit anymore. You're meat for the first guy that wants you."
So. Rule One.
And so forth. While we froze our butts off.
Came to the part where they start sparring, going through the basic moves. The Nightstalkers called for seven guys to pair off with our regular instructors. I was proud. The recruits had listened to me. Nobody volunteered.
The Nightstalkers grabbed seven guys and started them through the moves. The sergeant took four pairs and his buddy took three.
Just like I figured, when they got moving faster the soldier named Caddy made him a chance to "accidentally" hurt the guy he was sparring with.
The Nightstalker broke it up. "Seven more. Come on."
This one hothead named Ken something was all set to go after Caddy and get his head busted good. I told a couple guys, "Hang on to him. Cool him down. And don't let him pair off with Caddy."
I went up and took the spear from the guy Caddy had decked. His nose was bloody.
Clumsy as Caddy had looked, I figured I could stumble around and get in a "lucky" whack that would slow him down for the rest of the guys that would have to face him. I was rusty but I used to be pretty good with the standard infantry spear. Always was about my best weapon.
The body will betray. I went into a stance without thinking. Caddy looked puzzled. I figured he was mean because everything puzzled him.
The Nightstalker came and moved my hands and feet and butt around into what he considered a more acceptable stance. When he had everybody set he started us through the moves. It got hard to stay looking inept as they came faster. The muscles and bones remembered and wanted to do things right.
Caddy decided to break my nose. When he went for it I stumbled out of the way and accidentally whacked him in the shin. He barked. Somebody in ranks said, "Yeah!" Somebody else laughed.
That did it for Caddy. He came after me.
I stumbled around and tried to make like a scared kid trying to defend himself. Had we been playing for keeps I could have killed him over and over.
Then he gave me an opening a blind man couldn't miss. I tore up his left ear, tripped him, sent him sliding through the mud. I backed off trying to look scared and unable to believe what I'd done.
"That's enough!" our sergeant snapped. "Give me the spear and get back in ranks, Green. Caddy! Go get cleaned up. Get that ear fixed."
I surrendered the spear and moved. The guys were all working hard not to grin.
"Green!" It was the Nightstalker sergeant. "Come here."
I went back. I stood at attention. He looked me in the eye, hard. Then he touched the cut on my cheek. He backed off, took a spear from one of the grays, removed the headguard, threw it aside. "Give him a spear."
It got real quiet. Everybody wondered what the hell, except my sergeant. I thought I knew. Queen's Bridge. But it didn't make no sense. It was over a long time ago. My sergeant tried to argue. The Nightstalker just growled, "Give him a spear."
I gave him my best imitation Raven look and tried not to shake too much as I took the guard off the spear somebody handed me. I didn't throw the guard away. That bastard was serious. I wasn't going to play around and I wasn't going to give up a trick.
He did some fancy moves to loosen up.
My mouth felt awfully dry.
When he turned on me I shifted to a left-handed stance, which guys always have trouble with for a couple of minutes. I kept the guard in my right hand.
He tested me with a thrust toward my eyes. I brushed it away, gently, just manipulating the spear with my left hand. I shot my right forward, cracked his knuckles with the guard. Cold as it was, that had to hurt like hell. In the second the pain distracted him I brought my spear around, still one-handed, in a wild roundhouse edge cut at his throat. He threw himself backward to avoid it. I grabbed my spear with my right hand and went into a clumsily balanced right-handed stance, the butt of my spear forward. I flung myself and the butt of the spear straight ahead and got him under the ribs, taking the wind out of him.
After that it was just a couple of easy moves to disarm him and put him on his back in the mud with the tip of my spear at his throat. The whole thing didn't take ten, twelve seconds.
"You're wrong," I told him. "I wasn't there. But if you was right you should've remembered that the Nightstalkers are only second best, one-on-one."
I lifted the spear, stepped back, put the guard on, handed the weapon to Corporal Royal, headed for my place in ranks. I prayed a lot as I did. Nobody would look me in the eye. The guys were all scared shitless.
The Nightstalker took his time getting up. He was as pale as I've ever seen a guy get without doing a lot of bleeding, which he knew he could have done. He waved off any help. He recovered spear and guard and made a point of cleaning the weapon while forty-seven guys waited for something to happen.
He looked around, said, "You learn something every day. If you're smart. Let's have the next six men up here."
Everybody sighed. Me included. The shit storm was on hold for a while.
I noticed that hothead Ken looking at my cheek like he never noticed the mark there before. Maybe the cold made it show up more.
With a little sorcery and a little luck Bomanz learned that the men Exile had sent for the valuable corporal had just gone to Nightstalker headquarters and told them to produce him.
"Nothing like getting somebody else to do your work for you," Raven said.
"Sounds like a fine idea to me," Bomanz said. "Why don't we find a place and wait for them to bring him to us?"
As easily done as said. There was just one decent, straightforward route running from the Nightstalkers' headquarters to the heart of Oar.
"Finally coming," Bomanz said. "Silent. Lay down that haze now. Don't make it so thick they smell trouble."
Silent walked a ways away, just kind of stood there. People passing looked at him and stayed as far away as they could. Soon there was a stronger than normal smell of woodsmoke. The air grew hazy.
"This is them," Bomanz said of a tight little group approaching.
As the group came abreast the haze suddenly thickened. Bomanz struck at the escort of four men, flattened them, called his favorite buzzard in to dispose of their allegiance badges.
The four had been escorting a man and a woman. Silent looked at the female and started signing so fast only Raven could follow him. "Brigadier Wildbrand," he said. "We have to take her, too. You don't refuse a gift from the gods."
Despite their apparel they got into the Gartsen stable without attracting attention. Wizards were handy sometimes. Raven asked the man who met them, Gartsen, "Where is she?"
"Loft."
Raven stepped around a small menhir, climbed, made signs one-handed.
Neither the corporal nor Wildbrand had said a word yet. They had no real idea what their situation was. Till Darling came to look them over. Wildbrand recognized her. The Brigadier said, "Oh, shit. It's true."
Bomanz said, "Tell Darling we're ready to go get the rest of them."
Silent's hands were fluttering. He ignored the old wizard. He asked Darling, "Did you talk to the tree?"
She answered his signs, "Yes. He is troubled. He suggests we remove Case from that camp. Something happened there, involving Case, that he has heard of from his creatures. We will shackle these two and leave them with Gartsen."
Silent started arguing. She donned the clothing of one of Exile's guards. Sometimes she used her handicap for all it was worth. As when she did not want to argue.
Silent and Raven were livid. Neither one believed the tree had mentioned Case at all.
Smeds kicked his copper's worth into the discussion. "I ain't hungry and I ain't sick and that's worth something even if I got to be sore and tired all the time." It had been a hard day.
Somebody said, "Yeah. Bet it's hell out there now."
Another said, "What I'm wondering, suppose we whip the Limper? Then back to the same old horseshit till they find their silver whatsit?"
The group grew quiet. That was the first anyone had mentioned the future. Nobody wanted to think about that.
Smeds glanced at Green. Crowded as the tent was, there was a clear space around Green. Nobody understood what had happened this afternoon but they did know there was going to be some shit come down about it. Nobody wanted to be too close to Green when it hit.
Somebody said, "The Limper comes and the shit gets to flying, they're going to be too damned busy to watch me. I see the chance, I'm gone. Even if I have to stick Caddy or somebody."
The sergeant ripped open the entry flap. "Fall out and fall in!"
What now? Smeds wondered. More drills? Hadn't they done enough for one day? Hell! He was too tired to get pissed off.
At least they hadn't been singled out. Every tent was spilling men. As soon as they formed up, the sergeant marched them over to stand with their backs to the stockade. Grays ran around with lamps and torches.
Smeds caught a glimpse of Fish in the back rank of the platoon two to his left. The old man had done something to darken his hair.
The sergeant called them to attention.
Three dark riders came from the direction of the gate. A man in black walked beside each. They advanced slowly, studying each platoon. A review. Exile's men down to give the raggedy-ass militia the once-over…
Smeds stomach sank. They acted more like they were looking for somebody.
But they passed Fish's platoon without pausing. Maybe it would be all right after all.
The black riders passed the next platoon and started across the face of Smeds's outfit…
The lead rider halted. One arm thrust out, pointing. Fingers danced. The footman beside the rider pushed in among the men.
Smeds nearly messed himself.
The dark soldier grabbed Green.
Smeds sighed. Green! Of course! The shit had to come down, didn't it?
He was so turned inward he missed the arm pointing again, did not notice the two footmen coming till they were almost to him.
His blood turned to ice.
They took hold and dragged him out of ranks.
The riders headed for the gate. Smeds trudged along behind Green, a horseman on his left and a foot soldier on his right. After the first overwhelming shock he began to take control. He'd gotten out of a couple tight places already. He just had to stay calm and alert and move fast when his moment came.
A minute after they were in among buildings, masked from watchers in the camp, Green burst out laughing. "You guys got more balls than brains!" He punched one of the riders in the thigh. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me. I figured you belonged in there. This was Darling's idea."
"Yeah?" Green laughed again. "I'll remember that when your turn in the barrel comes. Why'd you grab my buddy Ken?"
"She says he's one of the men who stole the spike."
Green looked at him. "No shit?"
Smeds clamped down hard. Panic would not get him out of this one.
Fish understood what was happening the moment he glimpsed Exile's soldiers pulling Smeds out of formation. He didn't really think, he just reacted. Everybody was intent on what the blacks were doing.
He took a few steps back, turned, hoisted himself over the low stockade. A few of his neighbors in the platoon noticed but did not holler. Better, none got the bright idea of joining him.
He dropped to the ground, ran, softly cursing his body for having aged well past the point where this made any sense for him. He was all aches and stiffness from the day's drills and he doubted if he'd ever loosen up.
But by damn he wasn't going to give in, to those imperial vampires or to the weakness of his flesh.
He reached the uncleared ruins facing the stockade gate minutes before the riders came out. He crouched in darkness, waiting, and took stock.
He had two knives. Because he had come in as a volunteer the grays had not searched and disarmed him the way they had the conscripts. But two knives weren't going to be much use against that gang.
Craft was the answer. Like hunting and trapping and surviving in the Great Forest. Craft and stealth and surprise.
There were possibilities he rejected, like doing Smeds the way Smeds had done Tully. Smeds did not deserve that. It would do no good now because they knew who they were looking for anyway. Besides, Smeds was the only one who knew where the damned spike was hidden.
He watched the silhouettes of the blacks come out.
Before they left the cleared area he was sure there was some game running. They weren't headed toward Exile's setup in the goddess's temple uptown. Unless they were planning on going the long way.
What now?
Since he had expected them to streak straight to Exile he was set near their most direct route. He would have to move fast if he wasn't going to lose them.
He flitted through the ruins like a filthy ghost, making less noise than most haunts. He was very good at sneaking. One worry, not quite facetious, was that his quarry would smell him. For days before volunteering he had been too pressed to clean up and the days in the stockade had just been time to ripen.
In the Great Forest, to survive where the savages prowled, you paid attention to how you smelled.
He caught up quickly, was watching from twenty yards away when a couple of them started congratulating each other.
The key word trumpeted: Darling.
He was thunderstruck.
He hadn't really expected the White Rose bunch to be scared off by his threats but he hadn't figured them for so bold they'd take uniforms from Exile's people so they could ride into the training camp to spring one of their own, either.
This changed a few things. This made time less critical. This meant the odds were not. nearly as bad. There couldn't be many of them left after the purges that had begun last week. Maybe, once they went to ground, he could pick them off. The big worry would be how aggressively they would press Smeds.
He followed them so closely he might have been an extra shadow, and so carefully none of them got that chill-on-the-neck sense of being watched. And, wonder of wonders, they led him to a place he knew.
He'd only been in and out of the Gartsen stable a few times, back during his flirtation with the Rebel cause. But knowing anything about the lie of the land was better than going in blind.
He had one scare shortly before the Rebels reached their hideout.
A big bird dropped out of nowhere and landed on the shoulder of one of the horsemen. The rider cursed and swatted at it. It laughed and started talking about how Exile was in a tizzy because he couldn't find some of his guards.
Fish recalled that the White Rose called the Plain of Fear home and talking creatures supposedly infested the place.
His luck was with him still. He had to consider the bird's advent a good omen.
Not so the man it had selected as its perch. He wanted the bird gone. The bird did not want to go. "I'm riding from here," it said. "I can't see diddle-shit in the dark."
Fish recalled the zoo they had been carrying the day he had seen them outside the Skull and Crossbones. There would be that to consider, too.
After they went into the stableyard Fish circled the place once, carefully. He did not spot any sentries but that didn't mean they weren't there, hidden from the cold.
It was getting chillier faster. And if that overcast was what he thought, it would snow before morning. A snow cover would make getting around unnoticed a real pain in the ass.
He faded into the shadows and went looking for a crawl-in entrance that used to be around back, where a lean-to junk shed had had the fence as its rear wall.
It was there, still, after all those years, and looked like it hadn't been used since the olden days. He opened it very carefully. It did not make half the noise he feared but what it did make sent chills scampering along his spine. He went in smoothly as a stalking snake.
Something cat size, that was not, started awake. He reacted first, his hand closing around its throat.
There was another thing, like a mouse or chipmunk, that he stomped as he was stealing toward the main stable, where a ladder nailed outside led to the hayloft. It died without a sound. He went up the ladder like a syrupy shadow.
The loft doors were secured only by a latch inside. He slipped a knife between, lifted it, eased inside. He dropped the latch into place.
There was a little light from below. There were voices down there, too.
And not ten feet from him were a man and woman, bound and gagged. The woman was looking his way but not at him. He eased closer…
By the gods! These people had their brass! That was Brigadier Wildbrand herself. And that corporal from the Skull and Crossbones. It fell into place. The imperials and these people knew the names but not the faces. That corporal would be about the best witness available.
Down below, somebody started yelling at Smeds. Smeds didn't say anything back. Somebody else said keep it down or the neighbors would think there was cholera here.
Fish eased forward some more. "Corporal," he breathed, staying behind a bale. The soldier jumped, then grunted. Wildbrand looked for the source of the whisper. He might have been a ghost for all the luck she had. "You want to get out of here?"
Another grunt, affirmative.
"They're going to ask you to look at a man and tell them who he is. Tell them his name is Ken something. You stick to that, when they bring you back up here you're out of this. You don't stick to it, it's good-bye, Brigadier."
The man glanced at his commander. She nodded, do it.
Fish wormed his way into loose straw, out of the way, to wait. He had it all scoped out now.
Raven and Bomanz ragged my old tentmate Ken and each other. He sat in a chair—the only one we had—and didn't say nothing. He was totally pissed off, but in a way so stubborn I don't think they could have got a squeak out of him with a hot poker. He just looked at them like he figured on cutting their throats in about one minute. He even refused a meal.
I didn't. I stood around stuffing food in my face and wondering what the hell was going on since nobody bothered explaining anything to me.
Darling stomped, got everybody's attention, signed, "Get the soldier."
Now what?
Raven and Silent went climbing into the hayloft. In a minute they came back with a Nightstalker who was gagged and, from the way he chafed his wrists, had been tied. They brought him over. He glanced indifferently at Ken. Ken didn't react at all.
Silent took the gag off. Raven asked, "Do you know the man in the chair?"
"Yeah," the Nightstalker croaked. He worked some spit back into his throat. "Yeah. Name's Ken something. He used to come around the place I was billeted sometimes, drink a few beers with us."
Silent and Raven looked at each other and had a frowning contest. Raven asked, "You sure his name isn't Smeds Stahl?"
"Nah…"
Silent corked him one up side the head and knocked him down. Raven asked, "You sure? This man here and the woman over there were at Queen's Bridge. They still have grudges."
The Nightstalker looked up at him and said, "Man, I'll call him Tommy Tucker, King Thrushbeard, or Smeds Stahl if that's going to make you happy. But that ain't going to turn him into Smeds Stahl."
"He fits the description."
The soldier looked at Ken. "Maybe. A little. But Smeds Stahl has got to be at least ten years older than this guy."
Raven said, "Shit!" I don't think I ever heard him use the word before.
It was not the right time but I couldn't help it. "There we was, headed into the last turn in the inside lane, leading by a neck as we headed toward the stretch. And the damned horse pulled up lame."
They appreciated it. For a second I thought Silent might actually say something. Probably something I didn't want to hear.
Darling stomped, asked what was going on. She read lips some but could not keep up with all that.
Raven and Silent signed like hell. She made a gesture she hadn't taught me, probably cussing, then told them to put the Nightstalker back in the loft. Raven and Silent dragged him off like it was his fault things didn't work out the way they wanted. Darling signed at anybody who would pay attention that it was all her fault for jumping to conclusions about some guys she saw on a porch one day. I didn't know what the hell she was going on about. When Silent and Raven came back we had us a big woe-is-me session. Bomanz's buzzard pal damned near got strangled by everybody.
A banging up in the loft broke that up. Everybody went charging up to see what the racket was.
The loft doors, where they hoisted the hay bales up and brought them inside, were banging in the wind. The Nightstalker and Brigadier Wildbrand, that they hadn't told me about before, were gone. Silent and Raven looked at the discarded ropes and gags and got into it over whose fault it was the Nightstalker didn't get tied up tight enough.
I dropped back down and told Darling. She had me yell at them to knock off the crap and get out there and catch them. They came, still bickering. She started giving orders aimed at stopping the Nightstalkers before they could get back to their own. "Paddlefoot stays here. He is in no shape." The Torque was crapped out in one of the horse stalls and had been since I'd come in. "Case. You stay and keep track of our guest."
That went over big. Raven and Silent gave me their famous deadly looks, like maybe I'd arranged the whole damned thing just so I could get her alone. Hell. After three days in that camp I didn't feel like doing anything anyway.
We were in a spot. From what Darling signed I gathered we was out of places to run. We couldn't even go back to the temple because Wildbrand and the corporal probably heard them talk about how we hid out right in Exile's pocket.
Even that buzzard got out to do some aerial scouting. I was glad. He hadn't started in on me yet but I was up to my ears with him nagging Bomanz. The old boy was all right.
I never saw Darling rattled before. She paced and stomped and made incomplete gestures and signed at me without ever finishing a thought. She wasn't afraid, just worried about what would become of the rest of us and the movement if the guys didn't catch the Nightstalkers in time.
I don't know what I thought we might get up to but at the time it seemed a good idea to tie old Ken up. Then I stood behind his chair, conversing with Darling, like I suddenly needed something to hide behind.
I don't know how much later it was, probably only a couple minutes, when I saw somebody move behind Darling and thought it was Paddlefoot Torque finally waking up. I went to work on me for being too damned chicken-shit to have grabbed an opportunity when it was there…
That wasn't Torque! That was somebody else…
The second I realized that, before I could give her any warning, the guy laid a knife across her throat. "Turn him loose," he told me. And when I just stood there gawking he drew a little blood. "Do it!"
I started fumbling with knots.
Torque did decide to wake up then.
I don't think the poor silly sack ever knew what was going on. He stumbled out rubbing his eyes and mumbling. The guy holding Darling turned around and stuck him with a knife he had in his left hand, came back and got Darling in the side with the same knife as she was turning toward him, and in almost the same motion threw the knife with which he had threatened her.
It hit me in the hip. I felt it go deep and hit bone. Then the grungy stable floor opened its arms and jumped up to meet me. The guy yanked his knife out of Darling and bounced over to cut our guest loose. Then he got set to cut my throat.
"Hey!" our guest yelled. "Knock it off! They weren't going to croak me."
"This is the second time they shoved their faces in our business. They want to clean us out. I warned them last time…"
"Let's just find my pack and get the hell out before the rest of them come back."
I could have kissed him if I could have done anything at all. I wasn't too spry right then.
The other one looked down at me. "You tell the bitch this was her last free chance. Next time, skitchl" He flashed his bloody knife past his throat. Then Ken found the pack I'd found in that alley. He put it on and they went away.
When the stable door closed behind them I ground my teeth and yanked the damned knife out of me. I didn't bleed to death on the spot, so I knew it didn't get any big veins. I crawled over to Darling. She was pale and she was hurting but she wanted me to check on Torque first.
He was still alive but I didn't think there was a whole lot that could be done to keep him that way. I told Darling. She signed we had to do something.
Of course we did. But I didn't know the hell what.
Raven busted in. "We caught them! We're safe for… What the hell happened, Case?"
By then they were all inside, recaptured prisoners included. I told it. While I was, one of our little spies came in from the temple to report that Exile had ordered an all-out search for Brigadier Wildbrand and persons unknown masquerading as his guards.
Bomanz and Silent did what they could for us casualties, then everybody that could hit the street again. It was starting to snow out there.
"Some fun, eh?" I asked the Nightstalkers. They didn't see the humor.
Frankly, neither did I.
"What the shit are we going to do?" Smeds growled at Fish when they stopped running to catch their breaths. "There ain't no safe places left."
Fish said, "I don't know. I used up all my ideas just getting you out."
"They know our names, Fish. And that bunch knows our faces."
"You're the one wouldn't let me take them out. You end up paying for that, don't whine at me."
"There's been enough killing and hurting. All I want is out." He tried to get his pack settled more comfortably. "I don't even give a damn about selling the spike anymore. I just want to wake up from the nightmare."
Snowflakes had begun to swirl around them. Fish grumbled about leaving tracks, then asked, "You know of anywhere to lay up even for a little while? Twelve hours would do. Twenty-four would be better. The Limper would be here and there wouldn't be any more ducking and slinking because the soldiers would be busy."
The only thing Smeds could think of was a drainage system that had been built when he was a kid, to carry water away from the neighborhood when it rained. Before the system there'd always been little local floods when it stormed. Some of the ditching was covered over. They had played and hidden out in there. But he hadn't paid any attention in ten years. Public works which did not serve the rich and powerful had a way of dying of neglect.
It was no place he wanted to spend any time. It would be cold and damp and infested with rats and, these days, probably, human vermin. But he could think of nowhere else to get out of sight, even for an hour.
"When I was a kid we used to—"
"Don't tell me. If I don't know I can't tell anybody. Just tell me where's a good place for you to see me without me or anybody watching me seeing you."
Smeds thought about it and mentioned a place he did know was there because his labor battalion had passed that way every morning and evening when he was doing time. He described it, asked, "What are we up to?"
"I'm going to see if Exile will talk deal."
"Oh, shit, man! He'll take you apart."
"He might," Fish admitted. "But we know somebody's going to do that real soon anyway. He's the only one who's offered any serious deal."
"I think if I had my druthers I'd rather the Rebels got the damned thing. The imperials are nasty enough without it."
Fish grunted. "Maybe. But they don't want to pay for it. They want you to do it for love. I'm a whore too old and set in her ways not to want to get paid for my trouble."
Smeds said, "I guess for guys like us it don't matter who's running things anyway. Whoever it is they're going to try to stick it to us."
The heavens had cut loose now, dumping snow so heavily it had become their ally.
Fish started explaining what he wanted Smeds to do.
The gang came smashing in out of the blizzard. Raven snarled, "We lost them."
Stubby Torque said, "You can't see your hand in front of your face out there."
"You tracked Raker down in a snowstorm in Roses, didn't you?" I asked Raven.
"Different circumstances." He was double-pissed now because of what he thought he saw when he busted through the door. As if we could have done anything about it carved up the way we were.
Darling shut them up. She made it clear she'd had her mind on business because she told them what we were going to do if those guys told the gray boys where to find us again. She felt almost sorry for those two.
She overdid the empathy sometimes. I don't have any for guys who stick knives in me.
The excitement started a few hours later when a couple of our little spies from the temple came charging in to tell us how a guy who sounded like the one who stabbed me had dropped in on Exile to see if he could cut a deal. As a good-faith gesture he'd told Exile where he could find us and Brigadier Wildbrand. He'd also told Exile his headquarters was so riddled with spies he couldn't sneeze without some Plain creature reporting it.
That meant big excitement over there. A bunch of our little allies didn't get the word in time to get out. Gossamer and Spidersilk led the exterminator squads. Meantime, they were throwing together a gang to come after us. They figured we'd hear they were coming but counted on us getting caught being on the move in a city alert for us.
I thought they were a little optimistic there, considering Bomanz and Silent had done a good job keeping us from being noticed before. But Exile probably wouldn't know we had those kinds of resources. Not about Bomanz, at least. I figured his big panic would come when he started wondering what resources Darling could call up out of the Plain.
She did have something cooked up with the tree god. What I didn't know. It wouldn't be anything small.
Nothing like being nailed down on the bull's-eye of history in the making without a fool's notion of what was going on. Nothing personal, Case, old buddy, but they can't make you tell what you don't know.
Darling told Silent and the Torques to get the horses out so they could not be recaptured. They were going to hide them on an empty lot nearby. Yeah? What would they do about tracks? Something wizardly, I guess.
Horses were part of her plans. Whatever they were. I had caught part of an argument with Silent where she told him she wanted to steal a bunch more.
One heroic little rock monkey hung in the temple till the last moment, near getting himself fried by the twins so he could find out as much as possible about Exile's deal for the spike.
There was a deal. The monkey said Exile was going to play it straight and keep his end of the bargain if the guys with the spike kept theirs. The monkey said the guy dealing for them had no idea where the spike was nor any idea where the guy who did know was hiding.
Made sense to me. And to Exile, I guess. He didn't waste no time jacking the guy around, just asked the go-between how they wanted to make the exchange.
We'd had the guy who knew! I'd lived in the same damned tent with him for days! I wanted to kick some Nightstalkers around for lying to us.
Raven got the wind up, too. "How the hell are we supposed to con people into fighting the empire if the bastards go honest on us? Whoever heard of a wizard dealing straight?"
Bomanz gave him some dirty looks but never got no chance to argue because right then we got word that Exile's boys were closing in.
When they busted in all they saw was Brigadier Wildbrand and her buddy sitting on the floor by our runt menhir. The rest of us were still there but Bomanz had disguised us as heaps of manure and whatnot while we gave the Nightstalkers the idea we were sneaking out.
The talking stone boomed out, "Hi, guys! You're too late again. You're always going to be too late. Why don't you wake up and come on over to the winning side? The White Rose don't hold no grudges."
The raiders were all Exile's personal guards, unlikely recruits, but the stone kept nagging them.
They spread out. Some rushed into the loft where nobody was hiding. Some went to work to get the Nightstalkers loose. And some went to work trying to figure how to silence that bigmouth stone.
The menhir vanished. And just when their eyes stopped popping, here it came back. "You boys better get your hearts and heads right fast. It's almost dawn now and before sunset tomorrow the White Rose is going to cure this berg of the imperial disease." Away it went again.
That crack rattled them some.
Here it came, spewing more mockery. They got so pissed they stopped doing a thorough job of searching.
There was some noise outside. Three of them charged out into the blizzard. There was a flash, a scream. A guy staggered inside. "They're all dead out there. They took the horses."
That damned Silent was showing off for Darling. She would be pissed at him for wasting them when he didn't have to. I didn't blame him, though. He'd been keeping a lot bottled up. These guys were some he could make pay.
A bunch more went charging off to avenge their buddies. The talking stone whooped and laughed and carried on.
They never caught Silent, of course. But he got some more of them. They finally took Brigadier Wildbrand and got out of there while there were some of them left to get.
A little later Silent brought ten horses in. Him and the Torques were real pleased with themselves. I think maybe Darling was the only one who wasn't pleased with them.
The snowfall had ended.The sky had cleared. The world had grown almost intolerably bright by the time the Limper topped the rise that gave him his first glimpse of his destination. The silence troubled him some. There should have been birds out if nothing else. And why was there so much smoke drifting downwind from Oar, more than could be explained by all the city's hearth and heating fires?
No matter. No matter at all. He could feel that piece of haunted silver calling him as though he had been born to wield it and it had been wrought for him and him alone. His destiny lay there, ahead, and all the mousy scrabbling around by those who would deny him would not prevent him taking that power that was rightfully his.
He strode forward, walking now, no longer rushed, confident yet still ill at ease with the silence and a lingering suspicion that all the horizons were masks being worn by his enemies.
Toadkiller Dog was only one of a varied pack of monsters running on the Limper's trail. But he was out in front, their leader, the only one of the crowd not carrying some dread lord or lady out of the Tower. He was the scout, the champion, and before this day was through he hoped to be entered in the annals of history as the destroyer of the last of the Ten Who Were Taken, as the closer of the door on the olden times.
He topped a low ridge line, saw Oar for the first time. He saw, from disturbances in the snow, that the Limper had paused there, too. There he was now, a remote speck tramping a lonely track across the pristine snowscape.
He dropped down onto his belly to lower his profile, listened to the silence. He watched the smoke drift from the city, noted that everything that had stood outside the walls last time had been cleared away, leaving nothing but a flat white surround. Uneasily for a moment, he surveyed the horizons, feeling almost as if distant groves were the massed helmets and spears of legions waiting in tight array.
His companions crowded up behind him. They waited till the speck that was the Limper vanished against the dark loom of the city's walls. Then they all moved forward, marching toward doom or destiny in a gradually widening line abreast.
Smeds sat in the icy shadows shivering, unable to stop. His stomach felt hollow. It ached. He was scared. He hoped it was the cold and hunger but was afraid it was the first bite of cholera.
The air was filled with smoke and the stench of bodies being burned. Death had reaped a rich harvest during the night. Few who were not soldiers had eaten well in days. Disease made easy headway in bodies already weakened.
He watched the bridge up the ditch and wondered if Fish would ever come, and what he would do if Fish didn't. Then he sat there and gradually convinced himself that he was the last of the four of them, possessed of the greatest treasure in the world and so poor he was forced to live in a sewer like a rat.
He scavenged through his pack for the dozenth time, looking for some scrap of food that might have gotten into it somehow. Again he found nothing but the gold and silver he had brought out of the Barrowland. A fortune, and he would have given it all for a good meal, a warm bed, and confidence that the great terrors of the world had forgotten his name.
He started. Daydreaming, he had not noticed the two men come onto the bridge. One looked like Fish. He made the signal he was supposed to make before he walked away from the other, who stayed where he was.
Smeds shoved his pack into a gap in the culvert wall, where some of the building stone had fallen away and high water had washed out some of the earth behind. Then he ran toward the light at the nether end, a hundred yards away.
Midway he stumbled over a corpse that the rats had been at for a while. He had become so inured to horror that he just went on, giving it hardly a thought.
He rushed out the other end, floundered through drifted snow, and hurried around to where he was supposed to meet Fish, masked from the man on the bridge by a hump of earth six feet high. Fish was carrying a sizable blue canvas bag. "Is it safe?" Smeds croaked.
"Looks like they'll play square. This is the first third, along with some food and clothes and blankets and stuff I thought you could use."
Smeds's mouth watered. But he asked, "What now?"
"You go out on the bridge, get the second third, tell him where to find the spike. I watch from cover. He messes with you, I hunt him down and kill him. Go on. Let's get it done."
Smeds looked at the old man a moment, shrugged, went off to meet the man on the bridge. He was calmer than he had expected to be. Maybe he was getting used to the pressure. He was still pleased with himself for not having bent for a moment while the Rebels had him.
The man on the bridge leaned on the rail, staring at nothing. He glanced at Smeds incuriously as he approached. Another blue bag leaned against his leg. Smeds sidled up and planted his forearms on the rail on the other side of the bag.
The man was younger than Smeds had expected and of a race he'd never before seen. Easy to see why he had taken the name Exile.
"Smeds Stahl?"
"Yes. How come you're playing this square?"
"I've found honesty and fair play productive over the long term. The second third is in the bag. Do you have something for me?"
"In the city wall. One hundred eighty-two paces east of the North Gate, below the twenty-sixth archer's embrasure, in the mortar behind the block recessed to take the support brace of a timber hording."
"Understood. Thank you. Good day."
Smeds hoisted the bag and got the hell out of there.
"Go all right?" Fish asked.
"Yeah. Now what?"
"Now I join up with him to go see if you'told the truth. If you did he gives me the final third. If not he kills me and comes looking for you."
"Shit. Why not head out now? What we got ought to be enough."
"He's played straight. I figure it would be smart to play it that way with him. We aren't going to get out of Oar for a while. Be nice to know there was somebody who wasn't out to get us. You go back wherever you was hiding. I'll come back to the bridge."
"Right."
Smeds was just about to drop back into the ditch when alarm horns began blowing all over the city.
The Limper had come.
Raven got him a wild hair. He'd go snag the spike and that would be a big foot in the door with Darling. The guy's head was getting a little bent. He didn't tell nobody but Brother Bear Torque, who he conned into going along with him.
He started out lucky. They hit no gray patrols. As they got into the heart of the city, here came Exile and an older guy just like they had timed it for Raven's benefit. They followed the two.
Exile and his companion ended up leaning on the rail of a footbridge over a big drainage ditch. Raven and Torque watched from a distance. The area around the ditch was clear. They couldn't get as close as Raven wanted.
"What the hell are they doing?" Torque asked.
"Waiting, looks like."
The older man resumed moving, went on, and vanished among tenements beyond the ditch. Five minutes later another man came out to the bridge, talked to Exile a little, walked away with a bag.
"That tears it," Torque said. "Time to bend over and kiss our asses good-bye."
"He hasn't got hold of it yet," Raven growled. "We stick and see what turns up. Look here." The older man was coming out to rejoin Exile.
They just stood there.
"Look!" Raven pointed.
The covert from which they watched was about ten feet higher than the bridge. Just enough of an elevation to reveal the head and shoulders of a man crossing the snow north of the bridge, behind a mound that would mask him from the men on the bridge. He carried two blue.bags.
Alarm horns tore the guts out of the quiet.
The men on the bridge took off.
Torque said, "We better get back.…"
"Wait!" There was a nasty gleam in Raven's eyes. "Exile will be busy with the Limper. We get that man to tell us where the spike is, maybe we can get to it first."
Smeds had gotten back to his starting point. He put the two bags into hiding with his pack, except for a couple of army blankets, a heavy coat, a knife, food, and a bottle of brandy. He stuffed, warmed his veins, listened to the horns. They were going berserk up there.
A noise from down the culvert shocked him. He listened closely, figured it had come from about where the corpse lay, and had been made by something a lot bigger than a rat.
He rose carefully, filled his coat pockets with food, laid his blankets in atop the treasure—and froze.
A man stood silhouetted in the nearer end of the culvert. One of those Rebels. Fish had been right. The bastards just wouldn't let up.
The man was coming in.
Smeds lifted himself into the hole with his plunder. It was a tight fit and a pathetic attempt at concealment but he was counting on the man's vision needing a long while to adjust from the brightness outside.
Absolutely.
The man was still moving tentatively when he came abreast of Smeds. Smeds reached out and cut his throat.
The man made an injured-rabbit noise and started thrashing around. Smeds climbed down and walked to the mouth of the culvert. He paid no attention to the noise made by someone stumbling toward him from behind. He looked out into the glare, his eyes smarting. He moved out carefully, ready for anything. And found himself alone.
The ditch bank was almost vertical there, faced with stone, twelve feet high, spotted with ice. A lot of snow had blown into the ditch. Smeds floundered through it.
An angry bellow from inside the culvert gave him added incentive to make sure of his hand and toe-holds as he climbed.
He heard the man come out as he rolled over the lip of the ditch. He got to his feet and waited.
An angry face rose above the brink. Smeds kicked as hard as he could, caught the man square in the center of the forehead. He pitched backward. Smeds stepped to the edge, looked down at the figure almost buried in the snow. He caressed the knife in his coat pocket, thought better of going down there because two women and several children had paused near the footbridge, watching. "I- hope you freeze to death, you son of a bitch." He kicked loose snow down, turned, and walked away.
He felt better than he had in a week and right then did not much give a damn what the future held.
Darling was foaming at the mouth when the alarm horns brayed. She had discovered Raven and Bear missing and was as thoroughly pissed off as I could imagine her getting. Whatever she had in mind, whatever she was making us get dressed up for, she had counted on having more bodies backing her.
Right then she had me and Silent and Bomanz and Stubby Torque. Paddlefoot Torque had died a half hour earlier. She stomped her feet and signed, "I do not need him. I survived without him before. Get moving. Get those horses ready." She pulled a knee-length shirt of mail over her head, followed that with a white tabard. As she buckled on a very unfeminine sword she snarled and grimaced so nobody argued.
Bomanz helped us both mount up. Stubby Torque handed her a lance he'd jury-rigged from junk from around the stable. She had her banner tied to it, furled. If her wound bothered her she didn't show it.
Silent finally got his balance enough to try arguing with the whirlwind. The whirlwind almost rode him down and there was nothing for him to do but jump onto his own animal and try to keep up.
Darling paused once, in the street outside. She looked at the sky, seemed pleased with what she saw. When I looked up all I saw was a gliding hawk, very high, or an eagle, higher still.
She took off. She hadn't bothered to tell any of us what she was going to do, probably because she figured we would have tied her up to stop her.
She was right.
We kept busy now keeping up and sorting ourselves out so the two wizards were closest to her, able to guard her with their skills.
She headed in the direction the alarms said the threat lay. The madwoman.
The imperials had several minutes' jump on us but we made most of that up. As we moved into that part of the city near the southeast wall we overtook hundreds of hurrying soldiers. Silent or Bomanz conjured an ugly sound and set it running ahead of us, to scare everybody out of our way. We burst out into the cleared space behind the wall. Darling headed straight for a long ramp that had been put up so heavy engines could be dragged to the ramparts. She headed up it, making soldiers jump to get out of her way.
I told myself it had been an exciting past year and now it was time to die.
Soldiers scampered away as we hit the rampart. I glimpsed Limper walking toward Oar, all by his lonesome.
Darling made her mount rear and scream. She unfurled her vermilion banner with the white rose embroidered in silk.
Utter silence. The imperials gawked, petrified. Even the Limper stopped his implacable advance and stared.
Then the shriek of the eagle—it was an eagle!—ripped the air. The raptor came screaming down. Before it lighted on Darling's shoulder, with what had to be bone-rattling impact, she pointed out at the land beyond the walls.
All heads turned. Three, five, six, seven, eight! The windwhales rose into the sky. Squadrons, troops, battalions of centaurs came cantering out of hiding, the drum of their hooves a continuous thunder despite the muting effect of the snow. Whole sections of woods started moving toward the city. Mantas began to slip off the backs of the windwhales, scouting for updrafts. More glided over the city from behind us, just to let the world know the place was surrounded.
Darling rose in her stirrups and surveyed her surroundings, searching for someone who did not agree that this was the day of the White Rose.
The snowfields erupted and talking stones began appearing, assuming posts along predetermined lines, forming the skeleton of a wall that would close the Limper in.
Damn me! The tree god must have started on the buildup clear back when we first hit Oar.
Darling settled into her saddle. She was pleased with herself. Everybody watched her for a cue, even the Limper.
Bomanz faced north, a resolute sentinel, never letting events behind him distract him from his watch for trouble. Silent remained as fixed on the wall to the south while Torque and I tried to keep a lookout everywhere at once. Bomanz said, "Case, tell her Exile is coming."
I backed my horse till Darling could see my hands without having to surrender her attention for the Limper and her continuing dispositions. She nodded. I told her I had spotted Gossamer and Spidersilk sneaking around north and south of us, respectively. She nodded again, unperturbed.
Exile approached us at a normal walk, careful not to give offense before he understood the full scope of his predicament. I was surprised that he looked so young despite the fact that I had seen the Lady, who was at least four hundred and looked a well preserved twenty. I noticed the old guy who stuck me and Darling drifting along in Exile's shadow.
Exile came up and looked the situation over. He showed no special response except to look at Gossamer and Spidersilk as if warning them to behave themselves.
He came to us. "Most impressive." He did not look impressed. "You quite took me by surprise. I am Exile. Who are you, and who speaks for you?" Just a stranger chance met, making casual introductions.
Bomanz and Silent were busy. Torque still didn't have the lingo so good. That left old Case. I was elected. "I'll do the talking." I indicated Darling. "The White Rose."
"So I see."
I didn't figure on naming anybody else, but Bomanz decided I should. He said, "Bomanz. The Wakener."
Exile showed a little surprise at that. Bomanz had a reputation. He was also supposed to be dead.
I indicated Silent. "Silent. Formerly of the Black Company. I'm Philodendron." I didn't name Torque. Seemed a good idea to leave something to nag on Exile's imagination.
"I suppose you're here for the same reason everyone else is?" He kept one eye on the Limper, I noticed. Right then the Limper was eyeballing the situation and counting up his options.
I signed at Darling. She signed back. I told Exile, "The silver spike. The tree god will not allow it to fall into the hands of anyone who wants its power. Whatever the cost."
"So I see," said Exile. It did look like the Plain had belched up all of every one of its weirdnesses. I wondered who was at home keeping the shop spooky. "That thing out there might have something to say about that to all of us."
Darling signed some more. I said, "We will destroy it if you can't. The tree has concluded that it has tormented itself and the world long enough. It will be destroyed."
Exile started to say something but never got the chance. I reckon Limper heard us well enough to get pissed because everybody wanted to put him into the past tense.
He had something all ready to go. But as he was about to cut loose, Spidersilk beat him to the punch, hit him from the side and knocked him ass over appetite. His spell went screaming straight up, making a sound like the biggest bullroarer in the universe. Gossamer hit him from the other side. A missile storm pounded away at him. Glowing red balls arced in from the fields to the south and for the first time I noticed a group of black riders down there, all mounted on the nastiest-looking critters I've ever seen. I thought I recognized our old buddy Toadkiller Dog. When the red balls came down they hit the ground like a giant stomping, leaving steaming black holes pounded into the snow and the earth beneath.
Exile just stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching.
None of my bunch did anything either.
The Nightstalkers came marching into the cleared area behind the wall, all spit and polish, neatly in step, their band playing. They began taking over positions as though this was nothing more than a changing of the guard. Brigadier Wildbrand, all squeaky-clean, came marching up to report to Exile.
The uproar died down. Nobody had done much damage to the Limper. He hadn't done any either.
Wildbrand glanced at us. I winked. That startled her, so I tried another trick, pixie that I am. "What you doing after work sweetie?"
She snubbed me. Not good enough for her, I guess. Just as well. She was too old for me.
A shadow fell on us all as she and Exile talked tactics. A granddaddy windwhale had moved into position overhead, not all that high up. I was impressed.
Exile and Wildbrand checked it out. He seemed the more perturbed. They went back to tactics. I glanced at the world outside. Limper was getting set to try something. The black riders had dismounted. Their steeds had disappeared. Toadkiller Dog was among the missing, too. The riders were walking closer. I noticed that talking stones, walking trees, and centaurs had gotten in behind them.
Limper charged the wall, a dark cloud forming around him. Everything cut loose again. And didn't bother him at all. He jumped up and kicked the wall—and knocked a hole in it fifty feet wide. Exile joined the party, somehow pouring on an endless, torrential shower of fire.
Limper hadn't much liked fire last time we saw him. He didn't mind it now, except he had trouble seeing straight. He wanted to knock down the wall where we were. He hit it two more times, once to either side of us, then backed off to think about what to do next. Exile gave up with the flames. They hadn't done much.
The Nightstalkers were busy repairing the gaps already.
I knew what I'd do next if I was the Limper. I'd prance through one of those breaches and start taking out my top enemies.
Being almost as smart as me, he figured it that way himself.
The snow was pretty torn up out there now but he strayed onto some virgin stuff while he was making up his mind which breach to charge. About fifty slimy green tentacles shot up out of it, glommed on to him, and started trying to pull him apart. The snow all around erupted. A whole pride of monsters piled on Limper. Toadkiller Dog got his head in his jaws and tried to bite it off. Something else shoved a hoof in his mouth so he couldn't do no hollering. The people who had ridden those monsters ran toward the excitement.
Exile and the twins paid no attention. They faced the city now, making concerted, complex come-hither gestures. What looked like a flock of birds rose from deep in the city and headed our way. Close up I saw it wasn't birds at all but lots of chunks of wood.
The flock settled outside the wall, neatly building a monumental pyre. Did they think they were going to roast Limper? They'd tried fire already.
No.
A giant pot followed the wood, sloshing, settled amidst the pyre. A big lid followed. It just hung around in the air, waiting.
The black riders got in on the fun down below. Everybody and everything was trying to cut the Limper up or tear him apart. I asked Torque, "You got an onion we can toss in?"
Brigadier Wildbrand said, "That's the spirit." She winked when I looked at her.
The spirit? I didn't have no spirit left. This wasn't even my fight, when I thought about it. And my hip was hurting so bad I expected to fall off everything in a minute.
The Limper bit the hoof off the thing that had one in his mouth, spit it out, let out a howl like the world's death scream. Bodies and pieces of body flew. Only Toadkiller Dog hung on. He and the Limper rolled around growling and screaming while the others tried to get back into it.
Exile assessed the damage. He looked at me. "He's too strong for us. It wasn't a great hope, anyway. Will you contribute?"
I signed to Darling, "He wants help."
She nodded, fixed on the action. For a moment I thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she made a complicated series of hand gestures. The eagle plunged off her shoulder, went flapping off and up.
I saw what Exile meant about Limper being too strong. One of the monsters was doing the foot-in-mouth trick to keep his sorceries silent. Toadkiller Dog was on his back, hanging on with all four limbs, his jaws still locked on the Limper's head, which he had almost completely turned around. But the others could not keep his limbs pinned. He used those to devastating effect.
The shadow of the windwhale grew more and more deep. It was coming down. Already I could smell it.
It dropped tentacles into the fray, grabbed Limper without any care to avoid getting anyone or anything else. Toadkiller Dog was in that mess, a couple other monsters, and a couple of human beings too squished to scream. A windwhale has the strength to snap five-hundred-year-old royal oaks. The Limper did not. The windwhale tore the whole mess into bitty pieces and dumped it into the giant pot.
Something to be said for brute strength sometimes.
The pot lid slammed down. Clasps clanked. The pyre roared to life.
I wondered how the Limper would get out of this one. He'd survived the worst so many times before.
I looked at Exile. "What about the silver spike?"
He was not happy.
"You couldn't take the Limper, you can't take us."
He checked the windwhales, the talking stones, the walking trees, the centaurs and manias, said, "You have a point. On the other hand, why surrender a tool you can use to knock the empire down? I have good soldiers here. The chances of battle look no worse than those of not fighting."
I couldn't answer that. I took it to Darling. Everyone in sight was watching, waiting for a clue to their next move.
Tension was not down a bit because the Limper was out of the game.
I signed. Darling had me hold the standard so she would have both hands free to answer. I felt funny doing that, like I was making a commitment to a cause I still did not truly support. She signed at me for a long time.
I told Exile, "The spike will not be used at all, by anyone, whatever the cost. A place has been prepared by the tree god, in the abyss between universes, where only a power greater and more evil can retrieve it." Which meant, I guess, that anybody bad enough to get the damned thing back would be bad enough not to need it in the first place.
Exile looked around, shrugged, said, "That's good enough for me. We planned to isolate it, too, but our method would have been less certain."
A flash and crash trampled his last word.
Bomanz had stirred himself. Up the way, Gossamer took a couple drunken steps and walked right off the rampart. The old wizard said, "She disagreed with the decision."
Exile stared at Spidersilk, frozen in midmotion. She relaxed slowly, lowered her gaze, after a minute went to check on her sister.
I checked Bomanz. The old boy looked real pleased with himself.
Speaking of old men. Where the hell was that guy who'd been following Exile around?
Gone. And I never noticed him go.
That old bastard was half-spook.
Raven came to slowly, shaky and disoriented. Memory of a flashing boot and savage impact. Realization that he had a ferocious headache. That his hip had begun to ache. That he was so cold he had begun to feel warm in his extremities.
A moment of panic. He tried to thrash around, found his limbs only vaguely cooperative. Worse panic before the onset of reason.
He wriggled his way out of the snow, got to his feet carefully. He felt himself over, scraped frozen blood off his face. The bastard had got him good. Almost had to admire those guys, the way they were hanging in there against the whole world.
Painfully, he dragged himself out of the ditch, stood on wobbly legs looking around, the old hip wound gnawing. Things had changed. There were monsters in the sky and witch fires flaring in the distance.
The Limper had come. Darling would be in the middle of it. And he wasn't there.
She would think he had run out again.
Raven reached the center of excitement in time to witness Gossamer's fall. Everyone seemed to relax after the incident. The Limper must not be a threat right now.
The crowd came down off the wall. Soldiers brought horses for Exile and Brigadier Wildbrand. A platoon of Nightstalkers fell in around them and they started moving north. Raven wondered what the hell was happening. It looked like Darling and Exile had cut a deal.
He could not catch them now, wobbly as he was.
The twins had their heads together. They threw dark looks after the departing company. They radiated a stench of wickedness about to break loose.
Better stick with them.
When the monsters began sliding across the sky Smeds suffered an attack of caution. Able to think of nowhere else to run, he headed back to the ditch.
The guy he had kicked was still there, twitching once in a while. He backed off and watched, waiting to see what the guy would do. After a while the guy woke up, dragged himself out, and tottered off. Good. Now he had a place to wait for Fish. He went over and around and entered the culvert from the northern end, passed through, and sat down to wait.
Fish showed up a forever later, standing over there on the footbridge. He didn't have the other blue bag. Damn. Smeds whistled just loud enough to carry to Fish, waved cautiously.
"What happened?" he asked when Fish arrived. "Where's the other bag?"
Fish explained.
Smeds told his story.
Fish said, "We need to get out of here, then. Let's get the stuff. We might be able to get out one of the breaches if there's any more excitement. With the spike up for grabs we can count on that."
They got the blue bags, which they rubbed up with dirt, and Smeds's pack, and headed for the area where the wall had been breached. The city was a place of ghosts. The living cowered behind locked doors and barred windows, praying their gods would keep them safe from the terrors without and the cholera within.
The occasional cry of a cholera victim made Smeds think more of haunts bedamned than of the living in pain.
Exile wouldn't say where the spike was hid. He didn't act like he wanted to pull something, just like he wanted to be in on the whole thing. Like he wanted a look at the cause for all the fuss. Can't say I blame him. I saw it back when it was just a big nail. I wanted to see how it had changed.
He led us up toward Oar's North Gate, got up on the wall, and started marching back and forth. We stuck tight. Outside, the friendly troops had begun a shift to the north. Exile took inspiration, told Brigadier Wildbrand to seal off the area inside the wall. We'd had enough trouble over that hunk of metal already. He asked for masons and heavy lifting equipment to be brought, too.
The damned spike was in the wall! No wonder nobody ever found it.
Wildbrand sent messages. Nightstalkers moved in. I was concerned. I would've been more concerned if the sky wasn't filled with monsters.
It took two hours to assemble machinery and workmen, and another for them to get set up to start pulling the wall apart. Nobody could stay tense all that time.
Sometime during the wait Bomanz asked Exile, "What arrangements did you make to keep your fire fueled? Rendering the Limper was a good idea but you'll have to pressure-cook him for days. The fire seems to be failing."
Exile looked down south. Bomanz was right. Exile frowned, muttered, grumbled at Brigadier Wildbrand. Next time I looked some of my scabrous old buddies from the militia were running firewood to the pot. And not doing a very good job.
Once everything was set and the spike's hiding place was sealed off inside the city and out, Exile asked Darling if she was ready to see it brought to light. She told him to get on with it.
There was a new kind of tension around, like everyone's temper was short and we were all waiting for somebody to do something inexcusable so we could let off steam by kicking his butt.
Guys started banging away with sledges and wedges and pry bars and ten minutes later the first stone rose out of its setting.
The day got on into late afternoon before the workmen exposed the layer of mortar supposed to contain the spike. For a moment everyone forgot enmities and allegiances and crowded up to stare at the blackened half of the spike that lay exposed. Darling told Silent to go get it.
He borrowed a mason's hammer, put on heavy leather gloves, took along a lined leather sack and somebody's old shirt to wrap and pack it in. He wasn't going to take any chances with the damned thing.
Darling readied a small wooden chest.
About the time Silent chopped the spike loose I glanced toward that giant pot. So I missed the beginning of the excitement around me but not its start at the pot, where the men feeding the fire suddenly scattered, like a school of minnows when a large hungry fish appears.
The top blew off the pot.
Something made of pieces of all the things that had gone into the pot, with way too many limbs and those in all the wrong places, crawled over the pot's lip, fell into the fire.
Someone screamed behind me. I whirled.
One slight Nightstalker had knocked Brigadier Wildbrand off the back of the wall. Another had stuck a knife into Exile. The first was hurtling toward Bomanz.
Gossamer and Spidersilk!
Bomanz went over backward, flailing the ah-, and plunged headfirst into the snow that had drifted against the wall.
Only Darling retained any presence of mind. She let go the White Rose banner, yanked out her sword, gave Bomanz's attacker a hearty chop, and followed him over the edge.
The one after Exile screeched.
That screech plain demolished everybody. We all just collapsed.
She jumped down and started hacking and slashing at Silent. She took the spike away, climbed back up, raised it overhead, and howled triumphantly.
Raven appeared out of nowhere, stuck her in the brisket, tried to knock the spike away, failed on his first try but got it his second. It tumbled down into the snow outside. Raven and whichever twin followed it a moment later, Raven grinding his knife into her belly while she screamed and tried to strangle him.
And outside the wall the thing from the pot humped and waddled and dragged itself toward us, oblivious to the resistance of the Plain creatures.
"Time to go," Fish told Smeds.
They stepped out of hiding and strode toward the nearest breach like they were on a mission from the gods. Men wild-eyed with panic paid them no heed. They scrambled over rubble, dropped down outside, and started moving southward.
Smeds expected disaster every step. Not till they crossed the first low ridge and Oar disappeared did he begin to feel at all positive. "We did it! Goddamn! We really got out!"
"It could still go to hell on us," Fish cautioned. Then he grinned. "But I'll tell you, the future looks brighter than it has for months."
Impressions swirled as Raven toppled from the wall with the screaming sorceress: ground turning and rushing upward, a windwhale making its booming protest as its attempt to grab the thing from the pot was rebuffed.
Impact! He felt his blade reach her spine, going between vertebrae. He felt his right leg twist beneath her and snap. They screamed at one another as their faces smashed together.
He got the better of it. He retained consciousness and even a fragment of will. He dragged himself away, a few feet, started trying to guess the damage to his leg. Didn't feel like a compound fracture. Hurt bad enough, though.
Bodies lay all around him. Only Bomanz seemed to be breathing.
Packing snow around the leg helped numb it a little.
People were yelling above. He saw Case jumping around, waving, pointing. He looked.
The thing from the pot was coming. It wasn't a hundred yards away. And nothing seemed able to stop it. Mantas pounded it with their lightnings. It didn't pay them any attention. It had only one thought: the silver spike.
Case was trying to get him to get the spike and get it up top before the thing got hold of it.
Bomanz rolled over, got to his hands and knees, shook his head, looked around dumbly, spotted the thing, turned almost as pale as the snow. He croaked, "I'll try to hold it off. Find the spike. Get it up to Darling."
He staggered to his feet, tottered toward the thing.
Raven supposed it really could not be called the Limper anymore, though the Taken's insanity, ambition, and rage drove it.
He looked for some sign of the spike. The pain in his leg was the worst he had felt since Croaker had got him with the Lady's arrow.
Raven finally seemed to get it through his skull what we wanted. I'd already volunteered to go down. Darling wouldn't let me. Now I signed, "Looks like his leg is broke."
She nodded.
Bomanz hit the thing from the pot with a grandpa power spell. It stopped the thing in its tracks. It went down on its belly, lay there glowing biliously, making a nasty whining noise.
A couple of Nightstalkers brought Brigadier Wildbrand back up. She had a busted arm and some busted ribs and looked like death on a stick but she was ready to fight. I told her, "I think you're the top imperial left."
She looked at the mess, said, "Yes," but seemed fresh out of ideas.
A talking stone dropped out of the sky, hit the rampart. It was my old buddy with the scar. He wanted orders from the White Rose. The White Rose didn't have any orders.
Raven scrabbled around in the snow. The thing from the pot started moving again. Centaurs raced around it, throwing javelins. Bomanz's spell had softened its protection. Most of the javelins got through. The thing looked like a porcupine. But it didn't seem to notice or care about the missiles.
Talk about your single-minded obsessions!
Bomanz popped it again.
Stopped it in its tracks again, too. It smoldered. The javelins burned. But it was not out of the game, it was just stalled. Bomanz looked up, shrugged. What more could he do?
Raven kept digging in the snow, dragging his broken leg. He didn't bother looking around to see what was gaining on him. He'd find it in time or he wouldn't.
I told Wildbrand, "Long as we're standing around not doing anything, why don't we get some ropes down there so we can hoist my buddies up?" Silent was on his feet now but looked like he was only maybe ten percent in this world. In fact, he looked like a lunatic, foaming at the mouth.
Wildbrand looked at me like I had brain fever if I thought she was going to lift a finger to save any Rebel. I reminded her, "We got a whole gang of hungry windwhales up there." Scar flashed away to cue the nearest. It started dropping. Scar reappeared, chuckling.
Wildbrand gave me a classic dirty look, put some of her boys to work on one of the cranes that had been used to pull the wall apart.
I yelled at Silent, "Get ready to come up!" He ignored me. He was getting ready to give the Limper thing some kind of surprise.
Old man Bomanz yelled, cut loose with his best shot, and tried to dive out of the way all at the same time. None of it did him any good.
The thing smashed into him, flowed over him. He screamed once, more in outrage than pain or terror, then tried to fight.
Silent looked up at Darling, smiling through tears. He sort of bowed with just his head… and jumped.
Goddamned madman!
He hit the thing's back. Flesh splashed like water and burned like naphtha, though the flame was green. The thing started rolling over and over and over, leaving pieces of itself behind.
Raven kept on looking for the spike.
Darling started hammering stone with her fist, shedding silent tears. I was afraid she'd break something she was so violent… She stopped, whirled, signed, "Have the windwhale take it now. It will never be weaker."
I didn't have to tell Scar. He read sign. He flashed away. By the time he got back the windwhale was pulling the thing apart again.
I asked Wildbrand, "You think you can keep the pot boiling this time, if we put the pieces back in?"
She got a face like a fishwife looking for a fight. "You do your part, I'll take care of mine. How do you plan to get the lid back on?"
That was easy. "Scar, have one of the big guys put the top back on the pot. Maybe carry a few hundred tons of firewood, too."
Wildbrand gave me the look, checked her temper, said "Maybe you aren't stupid," and had her men help her down to die street.
Down south, where the breaches were, there was mass confusion. People were heading out, a flood the grays could not stem if they were bothering to try.
The thing tumbled into the pot. The lid went on with a big, final clang.
Raven screamed.
He had found the silver spike. Or it had found him.
By the time I looked at her Darling was hammering the wall again, both fists bloody.
He had gotten hold of the thing with his naked hand.
He got to his feet. On a broken leg! He held the spike up toward us. I yelled.
He looked at me. I did not know him. A terrible change had come over him. He laughed horribly. "It's mine!"
His eyes were the Dominator's eyes. Eyes of insanity and power, that I had seen in the Barrowland the day the Lady had brought her husband down. They were the eyes of the Limper, ready to be entertained by the agony of a world that had given him nothing but pain. They were the eyes of everyone who ever nursed a grudge and suddenly found it within their power to do whatever they wanted, without fear of reprisal.
"Mine!" He laughed.
I looked at Darling, as sour with despair as ever I'd been.
She turned off the water, started signing. She was as pale as a sheet of paper. I shook my head. "I can't do that."
"We have to." Tears streaked her face. She didn't want to do it, either. But it had to be done or the hell we'd put ourselves through would have been time and pain utterly wasted.
Raven had studied sorcery long ago. Just enough to blot his soul, a taint the spike could rip into and use as a channel for its evil.
"Do it!" she signed.
Damn her! He was my best friend. Damn that rock Scar. He could have given the order anytime, but he waited and made us do it so we couldn't lay off the blame on his precious tree god.
"Kill him," I said. "Before it possesses him completely."
Near as I could tell Scar didn't do a damned thing.
But down there a centaur's arm shot forward. A javelin flashed. The shaft smashed in through one of Raven's temples and out the other.
This time he would not be back from the dead. This time he wasn't faking.
I sat down and turned inside myself, wondering if I hadn't dragged my feet so much while we were headed south would we have caught up with Croaker and so maybe never have gotten into this spot. This monster was going to be riding my shoulders for the rest of my life.
Darling did her own version of going into a pout.
Only Torque kept his mind on the job. He got the wooden chest from Darling, shinnied down the crane rope, got the spike away from Raven. He climbed back up, set the box down by Darling, came over to me and said, "Tell her I'm out of it, Case. Tell her I just couldn't take it no more." He walked away, maybe going looking for the brother who had left with Raven and hadn't come back.
I didn't much blame him for going.
Smeds laid the last stone on the old man's cairn. The tears were gone. The anger was quiet. It was not right that Fish should have fallen to cholera after taking the worst that could be thrown by the world's nastiest villains. But there was no justice in this existence.
It there was, Timmy Locan would be here, not Smeds Stahl.
Smeds went on, into the city Roses. A year later he was a respected member of the community, owner of a struggling brewery. He lived well but without ostentation that would excite unwanted curiosity. He never told his story to a soul.
No matter how many times I walked around it, the hole into the tree god's "abyss" still looked like a piece of black silk suspended a yard above the ground. It refused to have more than two dimensions.
Darling brought the little chest containing the silver spike, threw it through. It took both of us to do the coffin that contained all that had been left in the big pot when, after a week of cooking, it had been allowed to boil dry. The black circle vanished as though a stage magician had sucked the cloth up his sleeve.
We went and got clean for what seemed like the first time in years, then Darling showed me around the rabbit warren mat had been home for the Black Company and Rebel movement for so many years. Fascinating. And repellent. That people should put themselves through such hell… I wished them better times than mine, wherever they were.
Somehow we ended up doing what men and women seem unable to avoid. Afterward, she dressed in the clothing of a peasant woman, without a hint of mail or a single hidden blade.
"What goes?" I asked.
She signed, "The White Rose is dead. There is no place for her anymore. No need."
I didn't argue. I never was on that side.
For want of anything better to do we got Old Father Tree to give us a ride to where we could check out the progress of the potato industry.
It hadn't changed a whole lot, except the people I knew had got older.
The grandkids wouldn't believe a word of our stories but they d fight anybody who didn't agree that we told the most exciting lies in the world.
REVISION HISTORY
v2.0 - 11 apr 02 by wg
-reformat to standard html
-added chapter links
-misc scan errors fixed