Book 2 - She Is The Darkness by Glen Cook Page B

Blade’s bunch had not been
caught flatfooted. And Blade, after a couple of brisk and for him
very satisfactory encounters with regiments raised by Taglian
religious leaders, was making little effort to hold any territory.
He was falling back toward Charandaprash at a pace just fast enough
to make certain our forces did not get behind him.
    His whole area of operations was becoming infested with the
religious bands. Ever since their falling out Croaker had been
allowing the priests to go after Blade virtually independent of the
rest of the military. Blade hated priests and never hid that fact.
Working with the Shadowmaster gave him an opportunity to express
his hatred fully. In turn, the priesthoods were determined to
silence him forever.
    The Old Man seemed perfectly happy to allow the priests, who had
a strong tradition of intrigue and interference in secular events,
to spend their treasure and energy and most devout followers trying
to rid him of someone he detested.
    As he retreated Blade kept drawing those guys in and destroying
them. For a general with no formal training he did a great job of
taking advantage of his enemies’ blind spots.
    All across the south forces from both sides drifted toward the
Plain of Charandaprash. The big show would take place there before
much longer. Certainly before winter turned.
    I came and went with Smoke. Time passed, almost without meaning.
The Old Man got us onto the road again. I scarcely noticed. I was
too busy with Smoke. Croaker did not like me being in the wagon all
the time but there was so much going on so many places that he had
to put up with it in order to get the information he wanted. Though
his attitude could shift with the breeze.
    For a while I pretended to be sick, to give the crows and my
in-laws a reason for my being in the wagon all the time. Crows are
stupid. They did not catch on. But I think Uncle Doj got the idea
there was something up almost before we cleared Dejagore’s
south gate.
     
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11
    I was never a boozer or hophead. In this part of the world all
the major religions frown on alcohol so there is not a lot
available though One-Eye never has trouble finding the little there
is. If none is around he will make some. All my life addictions
scared the shit out of me. When I see a guy whose pain has driven
him behind the veil of alcohol or any drug I want to flee the same
weakness I fear can be found inside me.
    I was becoming addicted to the freedom from pain to be found in
the in between. When I was out there with Smoke the horrors of
Dejagore and the agony left behind by Sarie’s murder became
no more than distant, nagging aches. That weak side of me kept
promising that even the faraway aches would fade if Smoke and I
just kept working.
    I was both happy and completely miserable at the same time. My
in-laws were little help. Thai Dei, as ever, said almost nothing.
Uncle Doj merely urged me to be strong. “Death and despair
are what we endure all our lives. This world is all one of pain and
loss illuminated only briefly by moments of happiness and wonder.
We must live for those times, not bemoan their passing.”
    “We must live for revenge,” Mother Gota snapped.
“You old fool.” She was contemptuous as she glared at
me. Nor did she spare my feelings. “My mother was a madwoman
in her last days. We will be well rid of this weakling.”
    Being a weakling and not much caring for this world anymore, I
did not feel obliged to keep the peace. “I bet that back in
the swamp they thank their lucky stars every night that you decided
not to come home.”
    Thai Dei became pure stone as I put him in a spot where his
obligations had to butt heads.
    Uncle Doj chuckled. He rested a hand on Thai Dei’s arm.
“A shaft well sped, youngster. Gota, I must remind you that
we are here on sufferance. The Stone Soldier accepts us for
Sahra’s sake. His master does not.”
    Though I have a pretty good handle on Nyueng Bao these days I
knew I had missed some