three
miles. Even so, the Tower's silhouette loomed over the horizon. It
is a massive cube of dark stone. It stands at least five hundred
feet high.
I studied it all day. What was our mistress like? Would I ever
meet her? She intrigued me. That night I wrote an exercise in which
I tried to characterize her. It degenerated into a romantic
fantasy.
Next afternoon we encountered a pale-faced rider galloping south
in search of our Company. His badges proclaimed him a follower of
the Limper. Our outriders brought him to the Lieutenant.
"You people are taking your damned sweet time, aren't you?
You're wanted in Forsberg. Quit shitting around."
The Lieutenant is a quiet man accustomed to the respect due his
rank. He was so startled he said nothing. The courier became more
offensive. Then the Lieutenant demanded, "What's your rank?"
"Corporal Courier to the Limper. Buddy, you'd better get
hauling. He don't put up with no shit."
The Lieutenant is the Company disciplinarian. It is a load he
takes off the Captain. He is a reasonable, just sort of guy.
"Sergeant!" he snapped at Elmo. "I want you." He was angry.
Usually only the Captain calls Elmo Sergeant.
Elmo was riding with the Captain at the time. He trotted up the
column. The Captain tagged along. "Sir?" Elmo asked.
The Lieutenant halted the Company. "Flog some respect into this
peasant."
"Yes sir. Otto. Crispin. Turn a hand here."
"Twenty strokes should do it."
"Twenty strokes it is, sir."
"What the hell do you think you're pulling? No stinking
hiresword is going to . . . "
The Captain said, "Lieutenant, I think that calls for another
ten lashes."
"Yes sir. Elmo?"
"Thirty it is, sir." He struck out. The courier flopped out of
his saddle. Otto and Crispin picked him up and ran him to a rail
fence, draped him over it. Crispin slit the back of his shirt.
Elmo plied the strokes with the Lieutenant's riding crop. He did
not lean into it. There was no rancor in this, just a message to
those who thought the Black Company second-class.
I was there with my kit when Elmo finished. "Try to relax, lad.
I'm a physician. I'll clean your back and bandage you." I patted
his cheek. "You took it pretty good for a northerner."
Elmo gave him a new shirt when I finished. I offered some
unsolicited advice on treatment, then suggested, "Report to the
Captain as if this hadn't happened." I pointed toward the
Captain . . . "Well."
Friend Raven had rejoined us. He watched from the back of a
sweaty, dusty roan.
The messenger took my advice. The Captain said, "Tell the Limper
I'm traveling as fast as I can. I won't push so hard I'll be in no
shape to fight when I get there."
"Yes sir. I'll tell him, sir." Gingerly, the courier mounted his
horse. He concealed his feelings well.
Raven observed, "The Limper will cut your heart out for
that."
"The Limper's displeasure doesn't concern me. I thought you were
going to join us before we left Opal."
"I was slow closing accounts. One wasn't in the city at all.
Lord Jalena warned the other. It took me three days to find
him."
"The one out of town?"
"I decided to join you instead."
That was not a satisfactory answer, but the Captain slid around
it. "I can't let you join us while you have outside interests."
"I let it go. I repaid the most important debt." He meant the
woman. I could taste it.
The Captain eyed him sourly. "All right. Ride with Elmo's
platoon."
"Thank you. Sir." That sounded strange. He was not a man
accustomed to sirring anyone.
Our northward journey continued, past Elm, into the Salient,
past Roses, and northward still, into Forsberg. That one-time
kingdom had become a bloody killing-ground.
The city Oar lies in northernmost Forsberg, and in the forests
above lies the Barrowland, where the Lady and her lover, the
Dominator, were interred four centuries ago. The stubborn
necromantic investigations of wizards from Oar had resurrected the
Lady and Ten Who Were Taken from their dark, abiding dreams. Now
their
miles. Even so, the Tower's silhouette loomed over the horizon. It
is a massive cube of dark stone. It stands at least five hundred
feet high.
I studied it all day. What was our mistress like? Would I ever
meet her? She intrigued me. That night I wrote an exercise in which
I tried to characterize her. It degenerated into a romantic
fantasy.
Next afternoon we encountered a pale-faced rider galloping south
in search of our Company. His badges proclaimed him a follower of
the Limper. Our outriders brought him to the Lieutenant.
"You people are taking your damned sweet time, aren't you?
You're wanted in Forsberg. Quit shitting around."
The Lieutenant is a quiet man accustomed to the respect due his
rank. He was so startled he said nothing. The courier became more
offensive. Then the Lieutenant demanded, "What's your rank?"
"Corporal Courier to the Limper. Buddy, you'd better get
hauling. He don't put up with no shit."
The Lieutenant is the Company disciplinarian. It is a load he
takes off the Captain. He is a reasonable, just sort of guy.
"Sergeant!" he snapped at Elmo. "I want you." He was angry.
Usually only the Captain calls Elmo Sergeant.
Elmo was riding with the Captain at the time. He trotted up the
column. The Captain tagged along. "Sir?" Elmo asked.
The Lieutenant halted the Company. "Flog some respect into this
peasant."
"Yes sir. Otto. Crispin. Turn a hand here."
"Twenty strokes should do it."
"Twenty strokes it is, sir."
"What the hell do you think you're pulling? No stinking
hiresword is going to . . . "
The Captain said, "Lieutenant, I think that calls for another
ten lashes."
"Yes sir. Elmo?"
"Thirty it is, sir." He struck out. The courier flopped out of
his saddle. Otto and Crispin picked him up and ran him to a rail
fence, draped him over it. Crispin slit the back of his shirt.
Elmo plied the strokes with the Lieutenant's riding crop. He did
not lean into it. There was no rancor in this, just a message to
those who thought the Black Company second-class.
I was there with my kit when Elmo finished. "Try to relax, lad.
I'm a physician. I'll clean your back and bandage you." I patted
his cheek. "You took it pretty good for a northerner."
Elmo gave him a new shirt when I finished. I offered some
unsolicited advice on treatment, then suggested, "Report to the
Captain as if this hadn't happened." I pointed toward the
Captain . . . "Well."
Friend Raven had rejoined us. He watched from the back of a
sweaty, dusty roan.
The messenger took my advice. The Captain said, "Tell the Limper
I'm traveling as fast as I can. I won't push so hard I'll be in no
shape to fight when I get there."
"Yes sir. I'll tell him, sir." Gingerly, the courier mounted his
horse. He concealed his feelings well.
Raven observed, "The Limper will cut your heart out for
that."
"The Limper's displeasure doesn't concern me. I thought you were
going to join us before we left Opal."
"I was slow closing accounts. One wasn't in the city at all.
Lord Jalena warned the other. It took me three days to find
him."
"The one out of town?"
"I decided to join you instead."
That was not a satisfactory answer, but the Captain slid around
it. "I can't let you join us while you have outside interests."
"I let it go. I repaid the most important debt." He meant the
woman. I could taste it.
The Captain eyed him sourly. "All right. Ride with Elmo's
platoon."
"Thank you. Sir." That sounded strange. He was not a man
accustomed to sirring anyone.
Our northward journey continued, past Elm, into the Salient,
past Roses, and northward still, into Forsberg. That one-time
kingdom had become a bloody killing-ground.
The city Oar lies in northernmost Forsberg, and in the forests
above lies the Barrowland, where the Lady and her lover, the
Dominator, were interred four centuries ago. The stubborn
necromantic investigations of wizards from Oar had resurrected the
Lady and Ten Who Were Taken from their dark, abiding dreams. Now
their
Similar Books
