Book 1 - Bleak Seasons by Glen Cook Page B

Shadowlanders withdrew from this region. The
attackers were controlled through those. They would fight without
wills of their own while run by those lines.
    She could scramble the lines easily now that she sensed them but
chose not to do so. Let the attack proceed. These things cost the
Shadowlanders more dearly than they cost Taglios.
    Longshadow must realize that. So why did he find the exchange
worthwhile ?
    She entered the ranger encampment by leaping her mount over an
upturned wagon. She dismounted as an amazed Bucket ran to meet her.
He looked like a condemned man granted a last minute reprieve.
“It’s the Howler, I think,” he said.
    “Why?” Lady dragged her gear down from behind her
saddle, started changing right there. “What can he hope to
accomplish?”
    “I think it ain’t what they’re doing but who
they’re doing it to that matters, Lieutenant.” Though
she commanded armies, Lady’s Company title remained
Lieutenant.
    “Who they’re doing it to? Yes! Of course.”
Every unit lost had been led by Company men. Seven brothers had
fallen. “They’re picking us off.” The belief that
the Company is invincible is the backbone of Taglian military
morale and the black beast of Taglian politics. “That’s
crafty. Must be Howler’s idea. He does love to blindside
you.”
    Bucket helped her with her armor. That was gothically ornate,
black and shiny, too pretty to be much use in close combat. But her
job was to fight sorcery, not soldiers. Her armor was surfaced by
layer upon layer of protective spells.
    Rain began to fall as she donned her helmet. Threads of fire
snaked along channels etched into the surface of her armor. She
followed Bucket up the watchtower.
    Rain roared down. Sounds of combat grew louder, nearer. Lady
ignored those, extended sorcerous senses in a search for the
sorcerer known as the Howler. That ancient and evil being did not
betray himself but he was out there somewhere. She could smell
him.
    Was it possible he had learned to control his screaming?
    “I’ll catch up with you, you little bastard.
Meantime . . . ” She reached down. A fog
formed, became dense, slithered between the raindrops, gained
color. Pastels swirled, deepened, darkened. Soon the entire storm
glowed as though some mad artist had splash-painted it with
watercolors.
    There were screams inside the storm.
    The weather stopped moving. The shrieks of lost soldiers peaked,
faded. The Shadowmaster’s lines of power, twisting and
mutating, had turned lethal.
    Lady resumed searching for the Howler. She discovered him
stealing southward, flying low and timidly, fleeing the pastel
death that had begun eating its way back along the lines of power.
She flung a hastily concocted killing spell. It failed.
Howler’s lead was too great. But he did abandon stealth to
run hard. Lady cursed like any line trooper frustrated.
    The rain faded away. The Taglian survivors appeared one by one,
at first awed by the carnage, then grumbling about all the graves
that needed digging. Few Shadowlander survivors were found.
    Lady told Bucket, “Tell them to look at the bright side.
There will be prize money for the captured animals.” The
Shadowlander animals, excepting the elephants, had not suffered
badly.
    Lady glared southward, unforgiving. “Next time, old
friend.”
     
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17
     . . . falling . . . again . . . 
    Trying to hang on. So tired. When I get tired the present gets
slippery.
    Fragments.
    Not even fragments of today.
    The past. Not so long ago.
    Freezing my ass off. Failing to catch the great villain
Narayan.
    Lady at play down south.
    Fish stench.
    The sleeping man. The screaming Deceiver. Dead men.
    Only memories but happier than tonight. There is too much pain
here.
    It is my apocalypse.
    Slipping.
    Can’t keep my eyes from closing. The summons is too damned
powerful.
    The pillars might be mistaken for relics of a fallen city. They
are not. They are too few and too randomly placed. Nor has a