He is on record as saying he cannot abide sorcery, that sorcery has no place in the Black Company. It is wicked, dishonorable, the alternative of rogues. The man just cannot lay off the flattery. He spreads that stuff all over those two clowns every time he sees them, too. He has made them some big offers intended to get them to retire from “his” Company.
Help? Ain’t it funny how flexible you get when absolute destruction looks you right in the eye ?
Sort of flexible. Mogaba never addressed the matter directly.
I did not twist his tail. I never do. And I hope that drives him crazy. I said, “We will all exercise all our talents to their limit. If we don’t get through this, our differences don’t mean shit.”
Mogaba winced. Among the many things a Nar warrior does not do is employ colorful language. Whatever language he uses.
Good thing we were using the Beryl dialect. Our discussion had gone on long enough that the Taglian officers were beginning to doubt Sindawe’s bland translations. We tried to show the outside world a single face. It was especially important to deceive our employers. In the tradition of these things they are, likely, already figuring out how to screw us as soon as we save their royal butts.
Counting sworn brothers taken in since our advent in this forsaken end of the world, the Nar and Old Crew factions together total sixty-nine men. Dejagore’s main defenders are ten thousand inadequately trained Taglian legionaires, some willing but ineffective former Shadowlander slaves, and some even less effective Jaicuri. Each day snaps our numbers. Old wounds and current diseases thin our ranks as swiftly as enemy attacks. Croaker tried to teach good field hygiene but it has not stuck anywhere outside the Company proper.
Mogaba awarded me a small bow, the way honors are paid in these parts. He would not thank me outright.
Sindawe and Ochiba now had their heads together over some unit reports that had just come in. Sindawe announced, “No time left for talk. They are about to attack.” He spoke Taglian. Unlike Mogaba, he made a grand effort to get beyond pidgin. He strove to understand the culture and thinking of the several Taglian peoples weird though they are.
Mogaba said, “Then let’s go to our posts. We don’t want to disappoint Shadowspinner.” You could see the edge on the man. He was eager. His excitement was almost unreasonable. He reviewed the tactics he wanted used to reduce friendly casualties.
I left without a word. Without being dismissed.
Mogaba knew I did not consider him Captain. We discuss it occasionally. I will not acknowledge him without a formal vote. He does not want an election yet, either, I suspect because he fears his popularity is not what a Captain’s should be.
I will not force the issue. I might get elected by the Old Crew faction. And I don’t want the job. I am not qualified.
I know my limitations. I am no leader. Hell, I don’t even handle these Annals very well. I don’t see how Croaker kept them up and did all the other stuff he had to do at the same time.
I ran all the way to my section of wall.
12
Something hit me like a small, silent cyclone of darkness that dropped out of the night and nowhere. It devoured me, unseen by anyone around. It grabbed hold of my soul and yanked. I went into the darkness thinking, Boy, the Shadowmaster came back in a huge way, didn’t he ?
This was unlike anything I had encountered ever before. But why come after me? There were few players less significant than I was.
13
I was summoned. I could not resist. I fought, but soon I realized that a strong part of me did not want to win.
I was confused. I had no idea what was happening. I was sleepy... Was all this just because I wasn’t getting enough sleep?
A voice called my name. The voice seemed vaguely familiar. “Murgen! Come home, Murgen!” I felt violent motion, probably due to a blow I didn’t feel. “Come on, Murgen! You have to fight it.”
What?
“He’s coming. He’s coming back!”
I groaned. A major accomplishment, apparently, because it generated more excitement.
I groaned again. Now I knew who I was but not where I was or why, or who that voice belonged to. “I’m getting up!” I tried to say. Must be some kind of training. “I’m getting up, god-damnit!” And I tried. But my muscles would not lift me.
They were rigid.
Hands pulled on my arms.
A new voice said, “Stand him up. Get him walking.”
The original voice said, “We’ve got to find a way to head these seizures off before they happen.”
“I’m open to suggestion.”
“You’re the doctor.”
“It’s not a disease, Goblin. You’re the sorcerer.”
“It ain’t sorcery, either, Chief.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
“Anyway, it isn’t any sorcery like any I ever seen or heard of.”
They had me upright now. My knees would not cooperate but these guys would not let me fall down.
I opened an eye. I saw Goblin and the Old Man. But the Old Man was dead. I tried my tongue. “I think I’m back.” This time I had it. This time my words were slurred but understandable.
“He is back,” Goblin said.
“Keep him moving.”
“He ain’t drunk, Croaker. He’s back. He’s aware. He can hang on here. You can hang on here now, can’t you, Murgen?”
“Yeah. I’m here. I won’t drift away as long as I’m awake.” Where was here? I looked around. Oh. There. Again.
“What happened?” the Old Man asked.
“I got pulled into the past again.”
“Dejagore?”
“It’s always Dejagore. This was the day you came back. The day I met Sarie.”
Croaker grunted.
“It hurts less each time. This trip wasn’t bad. But you lose a lot besides the pain. I didn’t see half the horror I know was there.”
“Maybe that’s good. Maybe if you can shed all of that you can break out of this.”
“I’m not crazy, Croaker. I’m not doing this to myself.”
Goblin said, “It’s getting harder to pull him back, not easier. This time he wouldn’t have made it without us.”
My turn to grunt. I could get caught in a cycle of reliving the nadir of my life, over and over.
Goblin had not guessed the worst. I was not back yet. They had dragged me up out of the deeps of yesterday but I was not home. This was my past, too, only this time I was aware of my dislocation. And I knew what evils lurked in my future.
“What was it like?” Goblin stared like that every time. Like some facial tic of mine might be the one clue he
