of . . .
“Last time we were partners,” Raven said, swinging
onto the driver’s seat. “Maybe we will be again. But
tonight you’re a hired hand. Understand?” There was a
hard edge to his voice. Shed nodded, beset by new fears.
Raven backed the wagon. Shed felt a sudden chill. That archway
was hot as hell. He shuddered, feeling the hunger of the thing
watching them.
Dark, glassy, jointless stone slid past. “My god!”
He could see into the wall. He saw bones, fragments of bones,
bodies, pieces of bodies, all suspended as if floating in the
night. As Raven turned toward the gate, he saw a staring face.
“What kind of place is this?”
“I don’t know, Shed. I don’t want to know. All
I care is, they pay good money. I need it. I have a long way to
go.”
----
----
Chapter Twelve:
THE BARROWLAND
The Taken called the Limper met the Company at Frost. We’d
spent a hundred and forty-six days on the march. They were long
days and hard, grinding, men and animals going on more by habit
than desire. An outfit in good shape, like ours, is capable of
covering fifty or even a hundred miles in a day, pushing hell out
of it, but not day after week after month, upon incredibly
miserable roads. A smart commander does not push on a long march.
The days add up, each leaving its residue of fatigue, till men
begin collapsing if the pace is too desperate.
Considering the territories we crossed, we made damned good
time. Between Tome and Frost lie mountains where we were lucky to
make five miles a day, deserts we had to wander in search of water,
rivers that took days to cross using makeshift rafts. We were
fortunate to reach Frost having lost only two men.
The Captain shone with a glow of accomplishment—till the
military governor summoned him.
He assembled the officers and senior noncoms when he returned.
“Bad news,” he told us. “The Lady is sending the
Limper to lead us across the Plain of Fear. Us and the caravan
we’ll escort.”
Our response was surly. There was bad blood between the Company
and the Limper. Elmo asked, “How soon will we leave,
sir?” We needed rest. None had been promised, of course, and
the Lady and the Taken seem unconscious of human frailties, but
still . . .
“No time specified. Don’t get lazy. He’s not
here now, but he could turn up tomorrow.”
Sure. With the flying carpets the Taken use, they can turn up
anywhere within days. I muttered, “Let’s hope other
business keeps him away a while.”
I did not want to encounter him again. We had done him wrong,
frequently, way back. Before Charm we worked closely with a Taken
called Soulcatcher. Catcher used us in several schemes to discredit
Limper, both out of old enmity and because Catcher was secretly
working on behalf of the Dominator. The Lady was taken in. She
nearly destroyed the Limper, but rehabilitated him instead, and
brought him back for the final battle.
Way, way back, when the Domination was aborning, centuries
before the foundation of the Lady’s empire, the Dominator
overpowered his greatest rivals and compelled them into his
service. He accumulated ten villains that way, soon known as the
Ten Who Were Taken. When the White Rose raised the world against
the Dominator’s wickedness, the Ten were buried with him. She
could destroy none of them outright.
Centuries of peace sapped the will of the world to guard itself.
A curious wizard tried to contact the Lady. The Lady manipulated
him, effected her release. The Ten rose with her. Within a
generation she and they forged a new dark empire. Within two they
were embattled with the Rebel, whose prophets agreed the White Rose
would be reincarnated to lead them to a final victory.
For a while it looked like they would win. Our armies collapsed.
Provinces fell. Taken feuded and destroyed one another. Nine of the
Ten perished. The Lady managed to Take three Rebel chieftains to
replace a portion of her losses: Feather, Journey, and
Whisper—likely the
“Last time we were partners,” Raven said, swinging
onto the driver’s seat. “Maybe we will be again. But
tonight you’re a hired hand. Understand?” There was a
hard edge to his voice. Shed nodded, beset by new fears.
Raven backed the wagon. Shed felt a sudden chill. That archway
was hot as hell. He shuddered, feeling the hunger of the thing
watching them.
Dark, glassy, jointless stone slid past. “My god!”
He could see into the wall. He saw bones, fragments of bones,
bodies, pieces of bodies, all suspended as if floating in the
night. As Raven turned toward the gate, he saw a staring face.
“What kind of place is this?”
“I don’t know, Shed. I don’t want to know. All
I care is, they pay good money. I need it. I have a long way to
go.”
----
----
Chapter Twelve:
THE BARROWLAND
The Taken called the Limper met the Company at Frost. We’d
spent a hundred and forty-six days on the march. They were long
days and hard, grinding, men and animals going on more by habit
than desire. An outfit in good shape, like ours, is capable of
covering fifty or even a hundred miles in a day, pushing hell out
of it, but not day after week after month, upon incredibly
miserable roads. A smart commander does not push on a long march.
The days add up, each leaving its residue of fatigue, till men
begin collapsing if the pace is too desperate.
Considering the territories we crossed, we made damned good
time. Between Tome and Frost lie mountains where we were lucky to
make five miles a day, deserts we had to wander in search of water,
rivers that took days to cross using makeshift rafts. We were
fortunate to reach Frost having lost only two men.
The Captain shone with a glow of accomplishment—till the
military governor summoned him.
He assembled the officers and senior noncoms when he returned.
“Bad news,” he told us. “The Lady is sending the
Limper to lead us across the Plain of Fear. Us and the caravan
we’ll escort.”
Our response was surly. There was bad blood between the Company
and the Limper. Elmo asked, “How soon will we leave,
sir?” We needed rest. None had been promised, of course, and
the Lady and the Taken seem unconscious of human frailties, but
still . . .
“No time specified. Don’t get lazy. He’s not
here now, but he could turn up tomorrow.”
Sure. With the flying carpets the Taken use, they can turn up
anywhere within days. I muttered, “Let’s hope other
business keeps him away a while.”
I did not want to encounter him again. We had done him wrong,
frequently, way back. Before Charm we worked closely with a Taken
called Soulcatcher. Catcher used us in several schemes to discredit
Limper, both out of old enmity and because Catcher was secretly
working on behalf of the Dominator. The Lady was taken in. She
nearly destroyed the Limper, but rehabilitated him instead, and
brought him back for the final battle.
Way, way back, when the Domination was aborning, centuries
before the foundation of the Lady’s empire, the Dominator
overpowered his greatest rivals and compelled them into his
service. He accumulated ten villains that way, soon known as the
Ten Who Were Taken. When the White Rose raised the world against
the Dominator’s wickedness, the Ten were buried with him. She
could destroy none of them outright.
Centuries of peace sapped the will of the world to guard itself.
A curious wizard tried to contact the Lady. The Lady manipulated
him, effected her release. The Ten rose with her. Within a
generation she and they forged a new dark empire. Within two they
were embattled with the Rebel, whose prophets agreed the White Rose
would be reincarnated to lead them to a final victory.
For a while it looked like they would win. Our armies collapsed.
Provinces fell. Taken feuded and destroyed one another. Nine of the
Ten perished. The Lady managed to Take three Rebel chieftains to
replace a portion of her losses: Feather, Journey, and
Whisper—likely the
Similar Books
